


In Pursuit of Greener Pastures

by showbooth



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: BAMF Arthur Morgan, Canon-Typical Violence, Fatherhood, Illnesses, M/M, Major Character Injury, Moving On, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Plans, Plans aren't just for Dutch, Revenge, Spoilers, hopefully
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-03-06 20:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18858394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showbooth/pseuds/showbooth
Summary: After Jack gets kidnapped, John decides to leave the Gang for good.Leaving proves harder than he thought though, as problem after problem arises.If he ever gets out for good, will Arthur by his side? Will he ever be safe from the gunslinger life?-Spoilers for chapter 3 onwardNo TBRated for later chapters.





	1. Faith and Bloodshed

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely ties in with my story Of Scars and Jealousy, but can be read alone. 
> 
> Not beta read and written out on my crappy phone, please excuse any odd formatting. 
> 
> -  
> This is the true beginning of a mountain of a fic I have in the works. Truely. These men are about to be put through hell and back, with love.  
> Hope you enjoy. Please drop a comment or two!

Even though the situation was dire, Arthur couldn't help but feel a small thrill of excitement run through him.All around him was death and gunsmoke, yells of his own brothers and those that lay dying in their wake.

It was the first time so many of the gang came together to fight, all with one simple goal in mind- find Jack.  
It was revenge and vengeance in its most purest form. They took one of theirs, the most innocent one, so now they all must die.

John was pressed against his shoulder as they took cover behind a pillar, bullets exploding in the wooden wall behind them.

“You ok?” Arthur yelled, ears ringing.

John nodded, swiping at a cut on his forehead. “I'm ok,wasn't hit.” He assured. He fished out a fire bottle from his coat pocket, and sent it in a glowing arch over the railing to a gang of men on horseback.

They watched for a moment as men tumbled from their mounts, their clothes set ablaze as they ran in crazed circles.

“Good shot.” Arthur praised, reloading his Repeater. 

Together, with the help of their unseen brothers, they made quick work of ridding the Braithwaite Manor of her sons.

Once the gunfire quieted down, Arthur and John quickly raced to the balcony door. Almost nose to nose, they pushed past the barricade and shot the two remaining men before they could properly react.

“Jack! You in here?” John called out, voice high and desperate as he darted around the room.  
Arthur scanned the room for any signs of the boy, opening up cabinets and a large wardrobe to peer inside. “Not here.”

Dutch and Hosea burst through the doors, Dutch immediately heading for the ensuite door in the large bedroom. He reached in and yanked Mrs. Braithwaite out as she fumbled with an ancient pistol.

They surrounded the older woman, Dutch pressing his pistol into the sagging skin of her neck. “Where's the boy?” He demanded in a low growl.

If it would have been any other job, a robbery or some grand scam, Arthur would have felt some pity for the woman. To hear her sons die while she cowered in a closet, clad in nothing but her nightgown and slippers. It painted a sad picture.

Beside him John spat onto the carpet and gripped his pistol tightly, a bundle of raw nerves and anger.  
All thoughts of pity Arthur initially had vanished.  
They were here for Jack, not knowing if the boy was there much less alive and unhurt.  
Arthur scowled and tightened his hold on his warm Repeater. Someone had to pay.

John snarled and inched closer to the woman when she didn't immediately spill forth information. Arthur stopped him short with a hand pressed against his chest. “Not yet John.” he murmured. “Let Dutch get some answers from her.”

John scoffed unbelieving, but remained at Arthur's side. “Yeah, right.”

Together they watched as Dutch got nowhere fast, the old woman too full of vile and hate to be of much good.  
Dutch ran out of patience. He grabbed Mrs.Braithwaite by her cap of grey hair and they were off down the stairs, him barking orders to burn the place down over her shrieks.

Upon their descent, one of the son's stumbled in, already half dead before Arthur's bullet met his brain.  
Mrs. Braithwaite howled in anguish, blood spraying across her face as the man hit the ground. She paled and looked as if she was about to faint when Dutch heaved her onto his shoulders and out the door.

Arthur and John followed, the manor beyond them already filling with smoke thanks to a few well aimed fire-bottles from the gang and good ol’ kerosene.

The lone surviving Braithwaite sat in the dirt,snapping about her stolen horses and liquor as Hosea chastised her for taking Jack. 

John fumed with anger, his finger twitching on the trigger of his gun. “Liquor? You sold my son like cattle you bitch!”

She sneered up at John, her own son's blood still maring her wrinkled face. “Trash begets trash I see.”

Before John could react, Dutch stepped between the pair and cocked his gun. “Where is the boy.”

She winced at the click of the trigger and feebly gave a name, some Italian man Arthur had never heard of.  
Satisfied, Dutch left her in the dirt, moaning before the inferno that was now her home.  
“Arthur, John, you two follow me to St. Denis. Hosea, make sure everyone gets back to camp safety and please inform Miss Abigail of our knowledge of young Jack’s whereabouts.” 

Arthur followed Dutch and mounted up on his horse Sara-Mae, not reacting when he heard a single gunshot blast behind him.

Halfway down the drive, John caught up with them, holstering his pistol with a grim smile on his face.  
“Let's get to it.”

 

The night dragged on. 

By the time they found the man, a pompous bastard named Angelo Bronte, and was sent on his errand to clear out grave robbers, Arthur was running on fumes. 

He knew John was worse, his slumped shoulders and the dark shadows forming under his eyes showing his weariness.  
They rode down the empty streets quickly, the horses’ hooves echoing loudly on the cobblestones.

He wanted to say something in their short ride, some words of encouragement and support to his lover.  
But he fumbled every time he opened his mouth.  
“You did good tonight, holding your tongue in there.” he settled on.  
John grunted. “Yeah well, didn't wanna risk anything happening.”

Arthur rolled his stiff shoulders and flexed his hands. More bodies would drop over Jack before it was all said and done, he figured.

With John in the lead, they rounded the corner back to the gated house. In the glare of the street lamps, Arthur watched as a small figure barreled his way toward to them.

John's scarred face split into a grin as he hopped off his horse and grabbed his son. “Jack my boy! Are you ok?”

Arthur grinned and stopped his horse to watch the reunion. The hailstorm of bullets, the deaths and destruction, the bone deep exhaustion all were worth it.

John scooped Jack up and onto the safety of his horse and arms, listening intently at the young boy’s chatter as he made a quick leave from the town.

Giving the father and son their moment, Arthur rode past them to Dutch.  
“So, you handled yourself well enough in there.”

Dutch scoffed and smiled brightly. “Was it ever a question? I did us one better, I got an invite to a party.”

Arthur raised his brows. “A party? What type of party?”

“A garden party of all things, hosted by the goddamn mayor of St. Denis. Can you believe that? I go in with a gun and come out with a party invitation!”  
Dutch slapped his leg and shook his head at his own charismatic ways. “These folks are morons.”

Arthur said nothing, but chewed his lip and thought of the little boy behind who's life and fate were up in the air just minutes ago.  
“I dunno Dutch, think we should be out galavantin’ right now?”

Dutch sighed. “Arthur Arthur Arthur, your negative side is showing my boy! Have a little faith in me son, I know what I'm doing.”

Arthur didn't reply, but he swore he felt daggers being drilled into the back of his head by John.  
An unspoken _say something!_ snapped in the humid night air.  
They rode on to the new camp site without further conversation, Jack filling the silence with talks of spaghetti and Italian _pantofole._

 

At camp, a celebration erupted as soon as Jack hit Abigail's arms. She cried happily, kissing the boy over and over until he squirmed to get down.  
She turned her attention to Arthur, grasping his hand in both her own. “Thank you Arthur, God, thank you so much.”

Arthur waved off her thanks, but caught the broken look in John's eye when she disregarded him altogether.

“Go be with your family John!” Dutch said happily, lighting up a cigar. “Let's celebrate!”

John's family.  
It hit Arthur like a ton of bricks that 'John's family’ didn't include him.  
Arthur fell back, away from the rowdy singing and merriment of the campfire and to the relative quietness of his bed.

Of course John would want to be with his family now. This whole experience probably woke him up, made him realize what he could have instead of the hidden relationship he had with Arthur.

Arthur sat down heavily on his cot and rubbed his eyes until he saw stars.  
It's what he always pushed for John, settling down with a woman. And who better than one he already had a son with, a premade family right there.

He tossed his hat on a nearby crate and blew out his lantern, laying down on his rickety cot. He smiled in the darkness as Javier started up another chorus of Jack's favorite 'Ay Yai Yai’ song.  
They were in good spirits at least, would be plum useless tomorrow though.

Light flashed on his face as the canvas drape was pulled aside and someone stomped in.  
Arthur sighed. Times like this he really wished he had a locking door.

“You just gonna sit in here and mope all night?’ 

He rolled his eyes and didn't move from his bed.  
“I ain't moping, I'm tired.”

John snorted and sat down on the edge of the cot, it creaking in protest. “Bullshit. What has you in a mood?”

Arthur scowled and sat up, yanking his cigarettes off the crate he used as a bedside table. “Tired is a mood. I swear you must sense everytime I try to catch some sleep, always waking me up…”

“You got me. As soon as I hear your eyes close I rush in.” John depanned. “Gotta come check on the sleeping beauty.”

Arthur gave a grunt of laughter and lit a cigarette. “Sure seems that way.”

John reached out and held Arthur's forearm, the shadows hiding his face. He waited a beat before talking, Arthur growing more filled with dread as the seconds ticked by.

“I'm thinking of leaving the gang.”

Arthur wished he could act surprised, as if it was sudden new knowledge and not confirming his earlier fears. Still, his heart sank as he nodded slowly.  
“When?”

John shifted and picked at hole in his denims. “I gotta talk to Abigail first. She once mentioned a sister out East, I wanna send her and Jack that way.”

In the darkness Arthur closed his eyes. John leaving to a new part of the country, setting up a happy homestead with wife and son. The American Dream.  
And he'd be here, in the same cot he had since a teenager, sleeping without a damn door until the day he died.

“I'm sure she'd be happy, after tonight.” Arthur offered weakly. 

John bobbed his dark head in agreement. “Yeah tonight was it for me. He's planning on going to some fancy party with the same bastard that bought my son for Christ sakes!”

He snagged Arthur's forgotten cigarette and took a deep drag. “It's fucked up, what he'll do for a chance at money.”

Arthur was conflicted. He knew John was right, but his loyalty to Dutch ran deep. He felt the need to defend his adopted father, but John wasn't lying.  
“Dutch is.. complicated.” He said neutrally. 

John blew smoke up to the ceiling. “No one is that complicated. You don't socialize with kidnappers.”

Arthur hummed in agreement. “Well, you're right about that. I'm not too happy about it myself.”

“But you're still gonna do it, aren't you? You're gonna get dressed up and do as Dutch commands.”

The anger that spiked through him was almost a comfort. Arthur knew anger better than the churning of emotions that flooded him.  
“Is that how you think of me, a puppet of his?”

“I know you're a far better man than he is Arthur, and you'll do what you think will help. Sometimes blindly so.”

“I don't anything blindly. I am in control of my actions, no one else.” Arthur growled. 

“Look.” John started, cupping Arthur's knee. “I'm just asking you to think about it. You'll have time, it's gonna take awhile to save up the cash.”

Arthur was thankful for the darkness of the tent for he blinked in response. “What do you mean?”

John sat up straighter, excited to tell his thoughts. “Well I haven't had time to really think about the details of course, but here's what I got so far.”

In excited whispers, John told of Abigail's younger sister in New York, how she always writes Abigail begging for her to come up and leave the gang life. 

“I know she'll welcome Abigail and Jack with open arms if they pop up on her doorstep, and if she doesn't I want Abigail to have enough cash on hand to not be stuck homeless. So I'm giving her pretty much every penny I have, well, if she agrees.” 

“I can give 'em some too.” Arthur offered quickly. “What else has been rolling around in that head of yours?”

“Well after I know they're settled and ok, I figured you and me can go up. It's a big enough city, there will be jobs for us all. And no one will give a damn about two men livin’ together there, and fuck ‘em if they do.”

“So you ain't gonna marry Abigail?” Arthur asked slowly. Even with John nearly spelling it out for him, he needed to hear it out loud. 

John hooted with laughter. “Marry Abigail? What the hell is rolling around _your_ head Arthur!”

Embarrassed now, Arthur huffed. “Well hell, what was I supposed to think? You making plans to move her and all.”

John patted Arthur's knee. “Lord Arthur. To borrow a line from our dear Dutch, have a little faith in me.”

“Please, don't ever say that again.” Arthur laughed, covering John's hand with his own. 

“So what do you think? Are you in?” John asked anxiously.

The camp, the gang, Dutch, it was the only life he really knew. He'd never had an honest job a day in his life, much less lived crammed in a big city.  
Just spending time in St. Denis was too much for him.  
Things have been hard the last few years ever since the mess in Blackwater, but was he really willing to give up everything he knew?

“I'm not gonna be a banker.” He warned slowly.

Even in the darkness, Arthur could see the brightness of John's smile. “I dunno, I think you'd look pretty sharp in a tie.”  
He laced his calloused fingers with Arthur's own. “I know it's a lot to take in so quick, and I ain't gonna rush you to make some big decision right now. Just, think on it. Don't think about Dutch and the gang, think about you and me.”

Arthur gave a quiet sigh and kissed John's bruised knuckles. “Give me a day or two to digest it ok? I'm not totally against it, but..”

John shifted closer and leaned against him, laying his head down on Arthur's shoulder. “I know, it's a big change.”

“Yeah, a whole different life.” Arthur agreed. He pressed a kiss into John's hair. “Might not be such a bad thing though, a second chance.”

John agreed around a huge yawn. “Second chances don't come around often.”  
Grumbling, he stood and stretched. “I'm whipped. I better get moving before I fall asleep right here.”

Arthur stood and gathered him in his arms. “It would be nice, to share a bed with you.”  
His lips found John's in the darkness, warm and inviting, so quick to part under his.

John melted against his lips,sighing as he kissed Arthur slowly.  
He pulled back to brush his lips across Arthur's cheekbone.  
“To have our own private space, not havin’ worry about eyes always on us.” John added wistfully. He kissed Arthur again before breaking apart from their embrace, tapping Arthur's lips with his finger.  
“Just more to think about. Goodnight Arthur.”

Alone again, Arthur returned to his cot. It suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger without John next to him. 

 

Arthur was a morning person, always had been.  
As a youngster, he'd been up before dawn caring for animals and drawing water.  
It was a deep seeded habit to rise early, but he enjoyed it well enough.  
There was a certain beauty about watching a sun rise and the hope and clean slate a new day brings.

He watched the sun wake and peak through the massive pines, the sky painted in rosy pinks and bright yellows. He wished, as he often did when he saw such a show, for a few pots of paint to play with.  
Instead, he drew the rays and the puffs of clouds in pencil as best he could.  
He checked the coffee he'd set to brew and poured two cups, taking them both out to the just out of sight of the camp.

To his surprise, Hosea stood with his back against a tree and gun loosely in hand. He perked up at the sound of Arthur's footsteps, or maybe it was the smell of the coffee.  
“Ah Arthur, good morning to you. You're up early.”

He took the offered cup with thanks, taking a small sip. “This was very much needed.”

“Why you out here on the night shift old man?”

Hosea tutted into his cup. “Hey now, this old man has a few uses yet! Besides, Mr. Charles is just 'round the corner over there.” He pointed a bent finger to a cluster of trees about 500 feet away.

Arthur still didn't like it and frowned deeply to show it. Out of all the young blood in the camp, surely someone else was a better fit for night guard duty. 

Hosea worked a handkerchief out his front pocket and coughed wetly into it his body bent with the effort.  
Arthur took back the tin coffee mug and patted his back. “Hey now, you ain't getting sick on me are you?”

“No no, nothing like that. I think maybe I breathed in too much smoke over at the Braithwaite's last night.” Hosea assured, replacing his handkerchief.

Arthur wasn't convinced, but let it drop. “Why don't you let me take over and you go get some rest.”

Hosea looked relieved, his lined face relaxing at the thought of a break. “Why thank you Arthur, I'd appreciate it.”  
He took back his coffee and promised to send someone else as soon as they started waking up.

Arthur chucked and took Hosea's now vacant spot leaning against the tree. “Might be a while.”

Eyes scanning the fields before him, Arthur let his mind wander.  
What would life be like without having to stand guard? Would he stop wearing his gunbelt altogether? He imagined men with decent jobs wouldn't need to be so heavily armed at all hours. 

He sipped his coffee, watched a pair of rabbits sniff at the ground before taking off in a flash. 

John seemed excited, hopeful. A second chance, he called it. It sounded too good to be true, a restart at life. He felt like he was tempting faith, but he let his imagination roam. 

They'd start off in small, some little cracker box of a place in some runned down building. Maybe they'd find work being stablehands somewhere or in a mill or factory.  
Jack would come over and they'd go explore what the city had to offer, get some store bought candy or see a show. 

Jack would go to school and learn more than all of them put together.  
He wouldn't keep bullets strapped to his chest or know how to silently slit a man's throat, he'd learn his letters and more figuring than a loan shark.  
He'd grow up barely remembering a time when he lived in a tent and ate stew cooked over a fire.

Eventually the city would get too suffocating, Arthur would think. He'd want a horse under him and a piece of land to call his own.  
They could build a little house out on the outskirts, somewhere by a stream where it's quiet.  
He could raise some horses, get Jack a little pony of his own.  
They'd work hard, but every night Arthur would go sleep in his own bed with John in his arms.

Arthur could picture it so well, it damned near surprised him that it all hadn't happened yet.  
And he wanted it, wanted it so bad his heart seized in his chest and his breath quickened. 

He sighed and shifted in place, wanting to go find John right away. Their second chance at life shouldn't be on hold for any longer than need be.

Behind him he heard the camp start to stir to life, peals of laughter and chatter about last night's antics most likely.  
Someone would come swap places with him soon, then he would find John and they would start planning their second chance.

 

Two hours later, Arthur, John and Abigail gathered behind his tent to talk.

Once a hungover Bill took his place, Arthur made a beeline to John. He found him heaving hay bales to the waiting horses, already sweat stained and tired before the day truly began.

“Hey, you think the horses will survive if you take a break?” Arthur asked.

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Arthur Morgan of all people telling me to take a break? Well I do believe hell must be freezing over as we speak.”

Arthur grinned and patted the closest horse, Old Boy, on his flank. “Well grab a coat and come on, let's go talk to Abigail.”

The joking smile fell from John's face, his lips parting with a gasp of surprise. “Are you sure?” He asked with quiet excitement.

“I'm sure I'm ready to start over with you. We deserve it.” Arthur said simply.  
John beamed at him and made like he wanted to hug the older man but caught himself.  
“Fuck it,” he laughed and gave Arthur a quick, tight squeeze. 

Abigail was near Pearson's station, serving up oatmeal to an unimpressed Jack. After a little convincing, they pulled her away from her negotiations and behind Arthur's tent to let her in on their planning.

John wasted no time with his speech, explaining how he and Arthur both would be willing to help with funds to get her and Jack out. 

Abigail gnawed her lip in thought. “I dunno, it _sounds_ good…”

“What's the problem?” John asked impatiently.

Abigail fussed with the skirt of her dress, patting it down and smoothing out wrinkles. “I'm just nervous that's all. After nearly losing Jack, I want to hunker down with him not toss us both in some strange city!”

John groaned in frustration. “Damnit Abigail! We're-”  
Arthur stopped John's no doubt insulting remark with a hand to his shoulder.

“We just want you both safe Abigail.” Arthur said earnestly.

“I'm just not too thrilled with the idea of being alone up there. I know my sister is there, but she's so damn religious I can barely stand it.”  
Abigail began to pace back and forth in quick little steps.  
“What if I need something..less than moral or legal done, you think she'll help me? Ha! Prayer only gets you so far, Jane.”

“Well…”, John began, glancing at Arthur for support. 

John hadn't told Abigail about the second part of his grand plan, the part about him and Arthur moving up too.  
He knew she'd need to find out about the two sooner than later, but Arthur was suddenly apprehensive. How would she react to Jack's father being queer?

“Well, you won't be up there alone for long. John and me will follow you as soon as we can.” Arthur finished.

Abigail stopped her pacing to study Arthur in disbelief. “You're leaving the gang too? I can see John, but why would you?”

The men shared a look, and John reached down and grabbed Arthur's hand in his own.

“Because we're together.”


	2. Promised Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With thoughts of his new life with John taking shape, Arthur isn't too happy to be playing watch dog to Dutch and Micah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love on Chapter 1! Means the world to me! Keep it comin'!
> 
> There are some direct quotes from the game in this chapter, which I fully do not take credit for.  
> There's no big chunks of dialogue direct from the game though.

For her credit, Abigail didn't gasp and clutch her invisible pearls.  
Instead she pushed past them to disappear into Arthur's tent, returning with the bottle of whiskey he kept at his bedside.  
She took a quick sip, winced, then took another.  
“Together?” She asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Like…together how?”

“We're fuckin’ Abigail.” John said bluntly.

Arthur coughed in embarrassment,dropping John's hand to rub his now warm cheeks. “Jesus John!”

John shrugged nonchalantly. “We ain't got time to dance around the point! Arthur and me are fuck-”

Arthur shushed him with a hiss and glanced around the camp for any eavesdroppers. “She gets the point, you moron. All the grace of a damn bull, I swear.”

“Well hell, what am I supposed to say then?” John complained, tossing his hands in the air. “She got the idea didn't she!”

“How about a little more class about it?” Arthur countered. He still couldn't quite look Abigail in the eye, and probably wouldn't be able to for a while yet. “Moron.”

Abigail cleared her throat to quiet them both, her own cheeks holding two high spots of color.  
“This is you two... together? Are you sure it's serious enough for you both to move?”

John and Arthur looked at each other, a laugh on their lips.  
Their back and forth was one of the things they both loved about their relationship. It was second nature, always had been since they were teenage brats trying to outshine the other.  
Now it was an honest, ‘take what you get’ kinda love that was more freeing to Arthur than any out in the open relationship he'd had with a woman. 

As if reading his thoughts, John gave him a soft smile, one Arthur usually only saw in their most private moments together.  
He glanced back at Abigail and coughed. “Yeah Abigail, it's serious.”

Abigail took another pull from the bottle. 

Arthur plucked it from her hands as she sputtered and hacked at the harshness of the liquor. “Now now, it ain't worth gettin’ plowed before noon over.”

“If ever there was a reason to get drunk at breakfast, this is it Arthur Morgan!” she rasped.  
She gave an amazed, disbelieving sort of laugh and studied them both, eyes darting between the two men. “I absolutely cannot believe this, never in my life would I picture you two... together.”

“Well don't picture it, Christ Abigail!” John swore, his own cheeks flushing.

“Does anyone else know?” She asked suddenly, eyes wide. She glanced at the camp, neck stretching and head bobbing like a chicken looking for seed. 

Arthur shook his head. “No, and we'd like to keep it that way please.”

“Yeah, so don't go broadcasting it around.” John added as a warning.

Abigail rolled her eyes. “No shit John.”

The three stood in silence for a moment, Abigail still studying them for unseen clues she might have missed.

“So…”, Arthur began, “Are you, er, ok with that part of all this?”

Abigail shrugged and rubbed her bare arms. “I'm not one to judge what others do, personally. I don't have the most purest history myself.”  
She shot John a look, waiting for his snide comments. Thankfully the man stayed quiet for once, finding the dust at his feet more interesting.

She continued on. “I do worry how it will effect Jack, when's he's older and all. And how he'd explain...you two...if we do move.”

“We can cross that bridge when we get to it. The most important thing right now is gettin’ you two out and safe.” Arthur pacified gently.

He hadn't thought about that part of the fantasy. All of Arthur's thoughts had been rose-colored and peachy keen, no hatred and disgust there to taint the dream. Doubt tried to creep in, but Arthur shook his head and tried to believe his own advice. 

Abigail sniffed and wiped delicately at her brimming eyes. “Well I think Jack is already beyond lucky. To have so many risk life and limb for him one night, then the next sendin’ him off to sanctuary.”  
With just the slightest bit of hesitation, she hugged Arthur and John both. “Let's do it. Let's leave this God forsaken land for some big city livin’!”

John slap his hands together and gave a whoop of excitement. “That's right! I'm tellin’ yah Abigail, you won't regret this. It will all work out, I promise you that.”

Abigail grimaced a nervous smile. “I hope. I mean, we gotta take the chance right? What's the sayin’, strike while the iron is hot?”

“Never been a more true phrase!” Arthur confirmed with a laugh.  
John snagged Abigail by the elbow before she could walk away. “Look, don't rush off and tell Jack just yet ok? The way that boy talks…”

Abigail furrowed her brow. “Wait, so Dutch doesn't know anything? Nothing about me and Jack leaving?”

“Er..” Arthur hesitated. “Not yet, but soon.”

Abigail's face fell and her hands met her hips. “And just how do you think he would react? Jack and I would be branded traitors! We wouldn't be allowed on no train, much less live to leave town!”

“Dutch is extreme, but he wouldn't kill a mother and child for moving on to greener pastures!” Arthur claimed.

He avoided John's eye, knowing the doubt he saw in them would mirror his own.  
He couldn't help but think of the young woman on the ferry, back on that horrible day in Blackwater.  
Surely he was right though. They were all family, Dutch would want them to flourish, to grow and thrive.  
If not, well, they'd deal with that too. 

“If he tries, he won't get far.” John promised in a low whisper.  
Abigail looked to Arthur for confirmation, seemed to relax a notch when he nodded stiffly. 

“Wait and tell him a day or two before you go, tell him your sister sent the tickets. He might get...upset if he finds out you spent hoarded money, but he can't say anything if she sent train tickets right?” Arthur suggested, palms out in offering.

Abigail agreed but still didn't fully regain her lost enthusiasm. The trio promised to talk again soon and Abigail left to check on Jack and his breakfast.

John watched her go, hands jingling loose change his pockets nervously. “She does raise a good point, about Dutch.”

“We'll have it all worked out, ok? Don't go doubtin’ yourself now.” Arthur soothed, patting John's jittering arm. “Let's go see if we can scrounge up something better than oatmeal.”

 

They worked their way to Pearson's, only to be hung up by Micah looming around the wagon. 

“Micah.” Arthur greeted stiffly, already turning his attention to the canned goods along the shelves.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called..” Micah drawled loudly in greeting.

“Children of God.” Arthur finished for him. He handed John a box of sweet crackers he dug up. “What are you on about?”

Micah stood and twirled his gun flamboyantly, holstering it in a flash. “See, you already know the verse! Color me impressed.”

“I'm not sure that line of thought serves you and me very well.” Arthur replied.

“That's because, cowpoke, you are a product of your profoundly limited intelligence.” Micah quipped.

Arthur snorted and accepted a sleeve of crackers from John. “No doubt.”

Just as he turned to walk away, Micah stood and told him about Pearson's run-in with one Colm O'Driscoll and his want of a truce.

John shook his head. “Sounds like a trap if I ever heard one.”  
Arthur nodded in agreement, mouthful of cracker.  
“Bad idea there Micah.”

Dutch appeared at his side, all ears to Micah's talk of parleys and opportunity to lessen the stress load.  
From his post at a nearby table Hosea agreed. “Definitely a trap Dutch.’

“What the worst that could happen?” asked Micah.

“Get shot.” Arthur said simply, stabbing the air with his cracker to make a point. 

Micah shook his head in disagreement and turned back to Arthur and clapped him on the shoulder. “Not if we have you!”

He talked how Arthur would be the cover man, the hidden eyes waiting to take them down if one of the rivals made a wrong move. No danger to him at all, he claimed.

Dutch lit a cigar and studied it's glowing tip thoughtfully. “A long time ago, I killed Colm's brother. Then he killed a...woman I loved dearly.”

The group nodded sadly at the mention of sweet Annabelle. Dutch was never quite the same at her sudden and cruel passing.  
Arthur knew Dutch would never forgive Colm. He wanted nothing but death for the man, and Arthur would guess Colm held the same feelings for Dutch.

Dutch exhaled a puff of smoke, watched it curl and disappear into the air. “Let's do it.”

Micah clapped his hands together. “There's someone with their head on straight. Let's go!”

Dutch gnawed at the end of his cigar and smirked. “Micah, Arthur let's go.”

Beside him John opened his mouth, no doubt to offer his hands. Dutch shook his head before John could speak. “No, no one else on this one. Stay here, I want everyone else on guard.”

John frowned and held Arthur back as Dutch and Micah took off ahead. “I don't like the sound of this. You're obviously walkin’ right into a trap.”

Arthur dropped the forgotten sleeve of crackers on the table and fished out a cigarette. He wasn't normally so nervous before an outing with Dutch, but he figured he never had such dreams in the works either. 

Aware of Hosea sitting in front of them, he motioned for John to follow him to the waiting horses.  
“I know it is, but I'll be ok. I'll be up and out of the action.” He promised. He hesitated a moment before handing over his journal to John.  
“My money is in an envelope in the back. If anything happens, y'all use every cent to get out.”

John snatched his hand away as if the journal was on fire. “No fuckin’ way am I takin’ this or lettin’ you go alone.”

Already mounted on The Count, Dutch bellowed for Arthur to hurry it up.

“Take the damn book Marston.” Arthur said, slapping the journal in John's hands. “I'll get it when I get back.”

He brushed his fingers against John's as he pulled away. “When I get back.” Arthur repeated with a pointed look.  
He turned on his heels and hurried to Dutch,back and shoulders tight with tension.

Behind him John pocketed the book quickly, though an embarrassingly large part of him wanted to clutch it to his chest. Instead he marched to his tent and stuffed the book under his pillow, picking up his rifle to fill his hands. In the seconds he was alone, John took a few deep breaths to steady the churning in his stomach.  
He'd be fine, John told himself. Up and out of trouble, Micah promised.  
He had to laugh at that. Micah's promises didn't hold much weight with him.

Hosea met him and the others by the fire, instructing them all to stay armed and alert. “Eyes open folks. We don't want to be caught off guard.”

He looked like he wanted to say more to John once the others disbursed, but John quickly left before he could speak.  
He had enough on his mind and heart to have a big talk with Hosea right now.

Jaw tight and teeth clenched, John walked out to the best view point he had of the road near the camp. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes to block the glare of the sun and tried to get comfortable against a tree.  
He knew he wouldn't be moving until he saw Arthur come riding back.

 

Chest pressed against the dusty clifftop, Arthur watched the men below him through the scope of his gun. 

Colm didn't bring many of his clinger-ons with him, surprisingly enough. Arthur figured Dutch and Micah would be outnumbered by the dozen down there.  
Instead it was just five men standing under the pounding sun, talking God knows what. About to do God knows what.

Arthur shifted nervously, his finger featherlight on the trigger of his rifle. His thoughts strayed to John, as they often seemed to do. 

How quick he was to offer himself up to come too, knowing full well it was a set up. If he was here right now he'd probably be bitching about rocks or wanting to just shoot Colm and be done with it.  
Arthur smiled. He could hear John in his head now, fussing and bitching.

Probably not the worse idea in the world, Arthur thought. Until word got back to Colm's followers and they all came rushing out the woodwork. 

Arthur sighed and turned his gun to survey the surrounding cliffs and dips, watching for other men like himself.  
Men too who marched willingly into danger for their chosen leader. 

This is it, Arthur decided. This is the last bullshit mission he’d do for Dutch. It was all getting too dangerous for no worthwhile payout.  
He had plans, plans far bigger than baking on some damn clifftop, hoping he'd be the first shot. 

It was freeing, the idea that this was the last time he'd be on some wild adventure with Dutch.  
Freeing, guilt-inducing, nerve-wracking.  
Everything was a jumble.  
His loyalties were stronger elsewhere now, he knew that much for certain.

Behind him was a crunch and scrape of rocks. Arthur snapped his head up at once, whipping around to face the intruder.  
The last thing he saw before blackness and pain overtook him was a stranger's shit-eating grin and the butt of their rifle.


	3. New Friends from Old Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur fights to survive as John reflects with a new pal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly,I made a little mistake in the last chapter! I referred to the 'new' camp, but the gang is still in Clemens Cove, not yet in Shady Belle. My bad x.x  
> I have plans for their move coming up
> 
> Also, in this chapter there are graphic details about injury and self surgery- if you have played the game you know what I'm talking about. 
> 
> Please read and comment, thank you!

Arthur woke suddenly, but had the good sense to keep his eyes closed.  
That and the swelling from his definitely broken nose made opening his eyes a struggle that didn't seem worth it.  
He wanted a bottle of whiskey and a cool rag to slap on his aching nose more than anything else in the world. That and to punch Micah right in his pompous moustache.

Goddamn them all, he thought bitterly. He told it was a damn trap!

He could feel the coarse hair of a horse underneath him and wondered briefly if it was his own. He was draped over it regardless, his hands and feet bound too.

Keeping his breathing slow and even, his nose whistling in protest, Arthur strained his ears to try to hear anything around him that stood out.  
There were sounds of water nearby, maybe they'd stopped at a creek? Didn't they cross a creek to come meet Colm? Arthur could barely remember his head was pounding so hard.

It wasn't a good sign they were stopped, Arthur thought grimly. It meant they'd been riding for awhile, or riding hard to lose Dutch and Micah. 

He risked creaking open an eye to have a look around, but it was useless as all he saw was grass.  
To make matters worse, he didn't feel the weight of his pistols on his belt. Stupid bastards knew to do that much, unfortunately.  
So once free, he would have to duck, cover, and run like never before. 

Arthur didn't much care for that plan. Running would be the cause of a bullet in his back or a rope around his middle.

Sweat trickled down his cheeks like tears.  
He rubbed his swollen face against the horse and tried not to feel totally helpless. At least John wasn't with him, Arthur thought. The younger man being safe was a comfort.

He heard voices coming from behind him, was at least 2 men then he figured. Arthur went limp and listened. 

“The son of a bitch still out?” a voice asked. He sounded young, Arthur thought. Hopefully he was young and stupid too.

“Yeah, out like a light. Hope I didn't do too much damage, Colm wants him alive.” his attacker answered.

Arthur was jostled and slipped down the horse as the man saddled up and took off.  
He was hoping for more conversation between the two, but after a few minutes of silent riding his hopes of more information were dashed.

At least his rider was in the back and not the lead, Arthur thought. He wasn't being actively watched, that was good.  
The binds on his feet felt looser, he realized as he wiggled his legs. If he worked at it, he might could slip them off and make a run for it if they slowed down any. 

With renewed energy, Arthur flexed his legs and feet for what felt like miles until the blinds were loose enough to slip to down his boots and pool at his feet.  
Gently as he could as to not call attention to himself, Arthur tried to hook the toe of his boot under the binds and pull them off.  
It wouldn't be the easiest task to pull off sitting up, much less slapped over a horse's ass and nursing a broken nose, but Arthur worked steadily.

Finally, he worked the tip of his boot under the string and yanked as hard as possible until his legs were free and dangling over the horse.

With his legs now free Arthur was hit with a resounding feeling of, now what?  
Belly down on a galloping horse, he wasn't sure he could pull off sitting up fast enough to fight with his driver.  
His attacker was fast, Arthur had to give him credit. He did manage to sneak up and bash his face in before Arthur could holler for help. 

They wanted him alive at least, he reminded himself. Alive for Colm to kill or to lure out Dutch again, who knew, but alive for the moment. 

Time was running out though, and if he didn't want to die today, he knew he had to make a move.

Just as he was about to make a jump for it, Arthur heard the distinctive chugging and clacking of a train coming down the tracks.  
His horse slowed and stopped and Arthur's heart leapt to his throat.  
This was it, this was his chance.

In one quick move, he heaved and rolled himself over the back of the horse. He hit the ground face first with a groan of pain, his already abused nose spouting out a fountain of blood. 

With the noise of the train and blood roaring in his ears, Arthur couldn't hear if there were shouts from his attackers yet. He didn't stick around to find out, running as fast as his overworked and slightly numb legs would take him.

He saw a spray of dust just to his left and knew it was a bullet that was meant for him.  
Frantically, he remembered Hosea's advice and ran in a zig-zagged pattern, desperately looking for something to take cover behind. 

All around him were sage bushes and patches of grass, not a tree or hill in sight. Cursing, Arthur dipped and weaved as he ran close to the ground. He just needed a place to hide and get his bearings, just a few seconds to gather up his wits.  
There was a steady drumming of horse hooves at his back, so Arthur turned in a semicircle hoping to gain a bit of speed as the horse turned. 

All at once, and a few seconds too late, did he remember the second of Colm's men. He had broken one of the most sacred rules of being a gunslinger- keep track of all shooters. 

The boy came racing toward Arthur, gun raised and ready.  
In a panic, Arthur floundered, his brain screaming at him to do something. He turned on his heel, ready to dart backwards, but it was too late.

-

Back at the camp, John had been at his post all morning with no incidents. Nothing had crossed his path except a few squirrels and countless  
birds. No riders, and no sign of Dutch or Micah. 

It didn't worry him that the three were still out as he didn't know how far out they were going to meet Colm. Surely it was a decent ride away, Dutch wouldn't want to meet to close to camp. 

About noon Abigail appeared, offering a plate of freshly fried catfish.  
“Kieran caught a mess this morning, before everything happened. Thought you might be getting hungry.”

“I'm not hungry.” He said stiffly, eyes still on the road. 

Abigail scoffed and sat down on a log. “It's terribly romantic and all, but you ain't gonna be much use to anyone dead from starvation.”

With a grunt, John leaned his gun against the tree and joined her. He didn't want to admit he had passed hungry hours ago and was damn near starving. “Well I guess.”  
She handed over the plate with a smirk.

John ate wordlessly, scarfing down the golden filets of flaky fish. He was hungrier than he realized, after last night and the hectic morning he couldn't remember his last real meal. 

“So”, Abigail began once John was finished “You and Arthur huh?”

John groaned in annoyance. “Did you come up here just to gossip?”

“You expect me not to want some details after y'all dropped all that on me this mornin’?” Abigail exclaimed.

John picked his teeth and snorted. “I think you've been hittin’ Arthur's bottle some more.”

Abigail shook him by the shoulder. “Come on, I'm _dying_ here! I brought you fish!”

“Should have known you were up to somethin’, you've never given me a meal.”

Abigail sunk her nails into John's shoulder, laughing when he yipped and scooted away.  
“Come on John!”

Rubbing his shoulder, John shot Abigail a withering look. “Fine, you damn panther! You get three questions.”

“Why just three?” Abigail asked, indignant.

“Cause,” John took a swing out of his canteen. “You only brought me three pieces of fish.”

Abigail groaned and John laughed merrily, tickled at himself. “Shouldn't be so damn greedy!”

“Well, ain't you a clever one.” Abigail huffed. “Fine, three questions.”

She cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter, turning herself so she faced John more head on.  
John held up a finger to stop her before she began. “And nothing about sex for Christ sake.”

Smacking his finger away, Abigail made a face. “Let's keep some secrets between us.”

“Thank God.” John murmured. He didn't think he could live if the mother of his son knew the dirty details of his sex life with Arthur.

“Ok, ok I got it. We'll start off easy. How long have you two been an item?”

“An item?” John mocked, shaking his head. “What is he, my beau?”

Abigail crossed her arms in a huff. “Stop being so damn difficult! Lord, I don't know how Arthur puts up with you!”

“He thinks my shitty attitude is half of my charm!” John smirked, sticking his nose in the air.

Abigail laughed and said her doubts before nudging John in the ribs. “Answer the question, Mr.Charming.”

“Ok ok, Lord!”  
John pulled a cigarette out his pocket and lit it, thumbing the brown filter as he thought.  
“I’m not too sure how to answer that, honestly. We've been back and forth for so long, it’s hard to pin down.”

“But what about Arthur and Mary? And the time you and I…” Abigail wondered.

He shrugged his shoulders and tried not to sneer at the mention of Mary. Even though she was merely a past blip in Arthur's life, he still resented the woman.

“In the past, we'd had our... moments, but nothin’ really came from it I guess. We really didn't become serious until around the time I came back, back when Jack was little.” John explained.

Abigail gave him an odd look. “Arthur whipped your ass when you came back around!”

John snorted and laughed. “Shit, you're tellin’ me. I still have the scar over my eyebrow!”

“Lord! What a mess.” Abigail laughed. “I always wondered why he had such a reaction, guess it makes sense now.”

“Well for what it's worth, he did apologize. And carry my sorry ass off that mountain.” John said. “Guess that makes us somewhat even.”

Abigail bummed a cigarette from John and sighed around a drag. Together they watched the still grounds in front of them, John deep in his memories and Abigail lost in her own thoughts.

He'd gotten as far as hopping off his horse before Arthur was there, storming across the yard with Hosea at his heels. John remembered the rage in Arthur's eyes, how his lip curled back and teeth gashed like a rabid dog.  
He saw Arthur's massive fist flying towards his face as if in slow motion, but he didn't try to block it. Being gone a year was worth a fist to the face, John figured.  
“Where the fuck 'av you been Marston?” Arthur bellowed as John hit the ground.

 

“You really think we're gonna be able to get out of this?” Abigail asked quietly, snapping him out of his memories 

“I think we gotta try.” John said seriously. “We owe it to Jack, and to ourselves. We're worth tryin’ over.”

“I'm scared to death. I'm scared to leave, I'm scared to stay, I'm scared of it all.” Abigail admitted, picking idly at a loose piece of bark.

John patted her back. “We're all scared. It's hard to up and leave all you know… but hell, if we survived this, why couldn't we survive some city?”

Abigail smiled weakly “That's one way of puttin’ it.”

“So, what's the next question you got for me?” John asked to distract her.

Humming in thought, Abigail drummed her fingers on her crossed knee. “What’s your favorite thing about Arthur?”

John hesitated, a thousand different Arthur traits and quirks racing through his mind. How could he put into his fumbling words the thousands of things he loved about the man?

Like how he sings under his breath when on long rides or doing some mindless task.  
Or how he stops to pet cats and dogs, no matter how ugly and mangy.  
Better yet, how he brings Jack back ‘treasures’ from his travels- arrowheads and fossils and whatnot.

Maybe he'd just say something crude like, Arthur's cock, just to embarrass her. Though it definitely was on the list somewhere, John reminded himself.

“His selflessness.” John settled on. “It's his best and worse quality.”  
He thought about Arthur's face just that morning, the grim determination in his eyes even though all his outlaw instincts had to be screaming.

Abigail nodded her agreement. “He's a good man.”

Pride bubbled up inside John, bright and warm. “The best.”

She smiled and put her cigarette out on the log and stood with a grimace. “I better go see what Jack's gettin’ into. Ain't no tellin’ with that boy.” 

“He doing ok?” John asked, stretching and standing too.

“Oh yeah, he had a blast. Poor thing didn't even know he was in danger.” Abigail sighed. “Gonna have to work on his 'stranger danger’ sense.”

She picked up John's discarded plate and flashed him a grin. “You know, I think this is the most we've ever talked without screaming at each other. It's been nice.”

John smiled. “Yeah, you're alright when you're not screetchin’ like a banshee.”

Abigail snorted and turned to walk back to the camp. She got a few feet before she turned back around in excitement. “Hey I got one more question!”

John groaned loudly, he'd hoped she had forgotten. “What is it?”

She suddenly looked bashful, her cheeks growing flushed. John was getting ready to spew his no sex questions rule when Abigail spoke.

“Who said I love you first?” she asked shyly. 

John wanted to roll his eyes and act tough, claim they don't need mushy words like that. But he saw the romantic in the woman's soft eyes and bit back his harshness. 

“Arthur did.” He said softly. “But he beat me to it.”

She smiled, as if he had confirmed her own thoughts then turned and left off for camp.

John returned to his tree, back against the rough bark and rifle once again in hands.

All the talk about Arthur got him missing the man. John was eager for him to come striding back in,acting like the whole morning wasn't a big deal.  
He'd flash John a grin and pick on him for being worried, all the while secretly touched. 

He wondered what Abigail would have asked Arthur, what his lover would answer to her questions.  
What would Arthur say his favorite thing about John was?  
John sat and wondered. 

-

Someone was screaming, a guttural shriek he'd only heard coming from the dying. He wanted to holler out, tell them to shut up and die already.  
It wasn't until he gasped for breath did Arthur realize it was he who was screaming.

The pain in his shoulder was unlike anything he'd even experienced. It ripped him out the comfort of his faint, razor sharp and burning like fire.  
He'd been shot before, a few times in the legs and arms, but this pain was new and unrelenting. The little pistol wounds seemed like mosquito bites compared to the raw ache in his shoulder.

The pain booming, Arthur tried to shove it down and survey his surroundings.  
He was upside down, he realized. He had initially thought the pain was messing with his head when he first opened his eyes and saw everything out of sorts.

Blood and snot from his nose trickled upwards to his eyes. Arthur had to blink the mess away and wipe his face on his good shoulder.  
He glanced at his wound, a dark stain on his union suit. Arthur looked away quickly, he didn't want to face it right now. Looking at it made it all too real. 

He clenched his teeth together tight as a bear trap, and tentatively wiggled his fingers on his left hand. Though it hurt, they all moved and he relaxed a fraction.  
He could move, so he could still get out of here. Wherever here was.

There was a set of double doors, rustic and old fashion like, and a short set of stairs. Through the planks he could see the darkness of night outside.  
Arthur figured he was in an old cellar or basement somewhere.  
The furnishings in the cellar didn't give anything away either.  
A chair, a candle on a nearby work bench, a rusty bucket, nothing that gave any clues. He could be anywhere.  
But he was alone, at least no one else was being held too. That he knew of. 

The doors swung open suddenly and in came Colm, carrying a dinner plate as if he was visiting an ill friend.  
“Well hello Arthur.” He sang out. “Glad you're awake.”  
He walked around Arthur in a slow circle, finishing his dinner as he went. 

“Hello Colm.” Arthur coughed, voice hoarse and scratchy.

Colm walked back around to stand in front of him. “So, how you feeling? How's the shoulder?”

“Barely even feel it.” Arthur claimed. His shoulder pulsed as if to remind him what a liar he was.

Colm snorted, clearly not believing Arthur either. “Oh you will my friend.”  
He reared back like an angry mule and kicked Arthur squarely in his destroyed shoulder.  
Arthur yowled in agony, tears filling his eyes automatically and dripping down to the dirt floor below.

“Oh now no, no tears!” Colm cooed in a high voice, shoving his spoon in Arthur's face.

Arthur grabbed his hands and swatted the spoon away. “Let me go Colm!”

Colm laughed and tossed his plate onto the ground. “Can't do that. Why don't you stick around and join my men? We can use a fine gun like you and you can finally make some real money.”

“It ain't about the money Colm.” Arthur gasped out, still trying to stop the tears from flowing.

Colm sneered. “Of course not, It's Dutch and that famous silver tongue of his.”

He drew out his pistol and pointed it at Arthur's face. “You killed a bunch of my men. At Six Point Cabin, in Valentine, in saloons. Everywhere you dragged your sorry ass, my men dropped.”

“Just let me go Colm and we can end all this shit right now.” Arthur begged, spinning in his restraints.

“No can do Arthur. The way I see it,” Colm put his boot on Arthur's forehead, pushing him into a slow swing. “The lawmen get him, they forget about me.”

“They ain't the forgetting sort.” Arthur warned the wall. He pressed his hands into the dirt and stopped his sickening back and forth. “Take the money and run.”

“Oh no Mr.Morgan, I got bigger plans.” Colm said. He kicked Arthur's hand and set him into motion again. 

“I want every last one of your degenerate pals to come marching in to save the day. I want em all to come in, guns blazing, to a bunch of damn O'Driscolls and Pinkertons.” Colm explained gleefully.

“So you only met with Dutch to grab me?” Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well of course. And I am waitin’ for his arrival with goddamn bells on.” Colm laughed.  
He twirled his gun on his finger, chipper and happy.  
“So if you'll excuse me, I best go get ready.”

Quick as a flash, Colm slammed the butt of his pistol over and over again onto Arthur's chest.  
He left to Arthur swinging, coughing and cursing.  
Too tired to stop himself, Arthur swung like a side of beef waiting to be hacked up.

His gang, his adopted brothers and sisters were about to come riding in like the calvary to nothing but trouble.  
More lives would be lost, either to Colm's men or at the end of a rope.  
And who would be the first to rush in?

He saw John, reckless with guns blazing. He'd shoot until they turned him into a bloody smear on the ground.

Arthur swallow the bile that rose in his throat. He had to find a way out and fast. He couldn't risk John's life, his future.

He tried to wiggle his feet to work out of the binds like he did on the horse, but he had no such luck this time. The rope was wound tight and tied off in a thick bundle of knots by his ankles.  
He jerked his head up to get a better look at the knot when something on the workbench flashed in the candlelight and caught his eye. 

It was a metal file, left out among the rusted nails and other assorted bits and pieces.  
Hope bloomed in his chest as he began to throw his weight from side to side, never taking his eyes off the file.  
That file was the ticket out of here, to warning the others.

Arthur swung hard, pushing himself with all his might until his fingers brushed the file and scooped it up quickly.  
Still swinging, he arched up as far as he could reach and sawed at the rope. His bruised and battered body begged for him to stop and go limp, but Arthur hacked away at the rope until the fibers gave way and he fell.  
He landed with a thump into the floor. Acting fast, Arthur untangled his feet and slung himself into a chair. 

He wasn't looking forward to what he had to do next, but time was ticking and he couldn't afford to hesitate. 

Wiping the file off on his stained shirt, Arthur stuck it into the flame of the candle until it was red hot.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur worked the file into his wound to fish out the slug still embedded in his flesh.  
He bit his lip until he tasted blood, trying to keep from screaming out in pain. He couldn't help the whimpers that escaped as he worked though.  
After a few agonizing seconds of probing his wound, Arthur finally hooked the slug and ripped it out. 

Breathing heavily, Arthur wiped his blood slicked hands off on his leg.  
All the poking and self surgery on his wound had caused it to start bleeding more heavily. Already light headed from his torture and earlier blood lost, Arthur knew he had to patch himself quick while he could still do it.  
He spotted a handful of stray shotgun shells and ripped one open with his teeth.

Luckily for him, so far in life he'd never had to use this method of cauterization before, or any method.  
But luck was funny that way, Arthur thought woozily. Always changing.  
He shook out about half a shell's worth of gunpowder into the hole in his shoulder, hoping it was enough. 

With a shaking hand, Arthur grabbed the candle and stabbed himself in the shoulder with it before he could overthink.

Being quiet this time wasn't possible as pain, liquid heat and razor sharp, ripped through his body.

He flung the candlestick down in anger as he yelled and cursed it and everything in between. Gritting his teeth, Arthur let one last sob escape before he plastered himself against a wall.  
With all the commotion, he was sure someone would be down to check on him soon.

Sure enough the doors swung open and in came some scraggly boy to investigate.  
He walked past where Arthur lurked and had just seemed to register that the outlaw wasn't there before Arthur pulled him into the darkness.

He snapped the boy's neck before the lantern he was holding hit the ground.  
Moving fast, Arthur quickly checked the boy for a gun but only found a few throwing knives.

Better than nothing, Arthur figured.  
Keeping low, he crept up the stairs slowly, stopping once he could peak out into the darkness. 

He counted off at least three guards. One stood alone a few feet from the cellar. The two others he heard by their voices only, unseen and somewhere to his left.  
It didn't sound like Colm, but Arthur knew the man could be inside the cabin. Along with a damn Army of others, Arthur thought grimly.

Gripping the throwing knives in his sweaty hand, Arthur figured he'd take out the nearest guard, hang right, and get lost somewhere in the woods.

Good a plan as any, he mentally praised himself.  
Now to just set it in action. 

He dared to stand a little straighter to better see the guard, trying to see past the haze of pain that edged his vision.  
Swaying just so, Arthur closed one tired eye and focused on the O'Driscoll's head.  
He threw the knife with all his might,and the man went down like a sack of potatoes.

Hurrying now, Arthur nearly crawled out the cellar he was so low to the ground.  
Keeping close to the cabin wall, he was so close to the edge of forest he could already taste the freedom.  
Until he heard a familiar neigh and his plans changed right then and there.

His beloved horse Sara Mae stood tied to the hitching post, in full view of the two other guards.  
Arthur knew he couldn't leave his horse, the bastards would kill her just for spite. 

Cursing under his breath, Arthur turned left and crept to his horse.  
Halfway to her, one of the men jolted up and ran over to the guard Arthur just killed.  
“Morgan got free! Quick, off your ass and find him!”

Arthur didn't dare move as the other man leapt to his feet with rifle in hand.  
The guard ran cursing in the same direction as the other, out and to the front of the cabin. 

Arthur raced to his horse and untethered her quickly. Getting into the saddle proved hard between his injuries and just overall exhaustion and Arthur fumbled.  
Sensing his struggle, his horse seemed to bend just slightly so Arthur could better pull himself up.

“That's my girl.” he whispered praise, heaving himself onto the horse. Taking the reins in his hands, Arthur turned the horse around and to the woods.  
“Let’s go!”

It didn't take long for his guards to see his escape, didn't take long for them to start shooting either.  
Arthur plastered himself to Sara Mae, ducking so his nose was almost in the horse's ear.  
“Come on girl, get us home” he urged needlessly. The horse galloped wildly as bullets whistled past them in the night air, shouts echoing off the trees.

Branches and limbs tore at his back and legs, slapped against his face like whips but Arthur held tight to Sara Mae's mane.

“Keep going girl, don't stop.” Arthur urged.  
He had no clue where they were, only hoped that somewhere in the horse's brain she knew the way back to camp.

Maybe it was his imagination, but Arthur swore the gunshots were fading.  
All around him sounds were fading actually, everything around him growing muted as if he was swimming underwater.

He knew he was fainting again, but Arthur couldn't find the will to fight against his body.  
So much of his precious energy was spent escaping his captures, he just needed a little rest. A little rest, then he'd wake and find home…

-

By the time Pearson rang the dinner bell, John had to admit he was growing nervous.  
For the better part of the day, he had sat at his post and watched the road.  
But eventually John grew bored and restless, so he wandered around the camp trying to find a better vantage point. 

That's how Pearson roped him into going to town, by not seeming busy enough.

They'd just finished eating when Bill came rambling in with talks of a massive buck he killed. “I need some help getting this damn thing!”

Always happy about fresh meat, Pearson followed along to go check out the deer.

“Why were you out huntin’? I thought we were suppose to be stayin’ put today?” John asked, following slowly.

“I shot it from my post, yah moron.” Bill bragged. 

John stopped following the men and just stared, basking in the stupidity. “You fired a shot, from your post, for a deer.”

“Well it was damn near right in front of me, I couldn't pass it up!” Bill claimed, sputtering. He clapped Pearson on the shoulder. “And this big lug is always talkin’ about wantin’ meat.”

Pearson held up his hands. “Hey, don't drag me into it. There's no harm done this time, but I wouldn't make a habit of it.”

Bill nodded and looked like a scolded boy instead of a grown man who should have known better. John have expected him to call Pearson ‘sir’ and promise to not be naughty again. 

“Now! Let's go see this beast!” Pearson said happily. 

Sure enough, the buck was pretty close to the camp and was massive too. It would last the camp quiet a few meals, but John wasn't about to congratulate Bill.

“Would yah take a look at them antlers?” Bill boasted. “Might hang ‘em over my tent”

“Looks old. Bet the meat is tough as shit.” John snapped. He still couldn't believe Bill fired a shot so close to camp.  
John knew most of his anger came from nerves over Arthur still being gone, but he didn't care. If anyone deserved bitching out it was idiot Bill Williamson.

“Then go bag your own damn deer and leave mine alone!” Bill snarled.

John just shrugged. “Fine by me, y'all have fun.”

“Hold on there John.” Pearson called out. “I'm gonna need you to run to town and buy a couple boxes of salt.”

“Why?” John asked, crossing his arms.

“I'm about out and this beauty is gonna take a few boxes to salt down.” Pearson explained, patting the dead deer's leg. 

John wanted to stomp his foot like a child throwing a hissy fit. “Can't someone else go, how about Sadie?”

Pearson scowled. “Oh she's _far_ too above simple town errands. Besides last time I sent her to town, she helped herself to some new clothes.”  
He shook his head and shared a look with Bill. “Damn women, always wanting to play dress up.”

Bill hawed a laugh and slapped his leg, as if Pearson was hilarious. Laying it on thick so he won't get ratted out, John thought.

“Fine. But it's coming out the box.” John said, stomping away.

“And hurry it up will you! In this heat the meat will go off soon if we don't hurry!” Pearson called.

Grumbling, John stomped to the donation box and grabbed out a few dollars.  
He found Hosea by the campfire, grinding away at what smelled like mint and sage.  
“I gotta go buy some damn salt for Pearson, be back soon.”

“Be careful my dear boy, we don't know who waits for us out there.” Hosea warned

“Ain't that always the case?” John muttered.

-

Even with riding fast to Rhodes, John made it to the general store just as the shopkeeper was locking up.

“Hey Mister, can you sell me a few boxes of salt?” John called from his horse.

The shopkeeper grumbled, clearly ready to end his day and go sit at the saloon. “ ‘Fraid not boy, I already cleared out the register.”

Not easily swayed, John gave his most pleading smile. “Please? I got a deer waitin’, I don't want it to spoil.”

The shopkeeper sighed and scrubbed his short beard. “Throw in the cost of a beer and I'll go get your salt.”

John wanted to argue, but it wasn't his money so he didn't care. As long as he got Pearson his damn salt and got back to the camp.  
“You got a deal.”

The shopkeeper grudgingly went back inside and came back out a few seconds later with a few boxes of salt.

John hopped off his horse and met the man on the rickety porch.  
“All I have is these three. That'll be a quarter, not counting the beer.”

Taking the salt, John passed over a fifty cent piece and thanked the man.  
He quickly stored the salt in his saddlebag and took off for the camp.

 

When he got back to camp, the first thing John noticed was Sara Mae among the other horses.  
He grinned with relief, nudging his own mare close to the horse.  
“Hey there Sara Mae.” He greeted happily. “Doin’ ok?”

It wasn't until he was off his own mount did John notice the dark splatters of dried blood along the horse's head and on Arthur's saddle.

He knew Arthur well enough to know if his much loved and spoiled Sara Mae was hurt, he would be out tending to her needs.  
He glanced around the camp and saw it oddly quiet, no one milling around.

John dropped the salt and made a dash to Arthur's tent.

Abigail caught him before he made it to Arthur, almost getting plowed down by John in his haste.  
“Move Abigail!” He cried, heart in his throat.

Abigail held him by his elbow, and pulled him back.  
“John, John, please just listen!”

Eyes wide and frantic, John watched as people moved in and out of Arthur's tent quickly and with purpose.  
Mrs. Grimshaw hurried in with torn pieces of linens, what looked like a hot water bottle.  
Behind her was Hosea, vials of his cure-alls and pain relief in hand. 

Abigail sniffed wetly and John tore his eyes away from the scene to face her.

“He's been shot. It's bad John.”


	4. Going Through the Bump in the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Arthur begins to heal, John begins to set plans in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments , reads, kudos, and love!  
> Please keep it coming!!
> 
> There is a bit of detailed wound stitching in this chapter, so please be aware if that bothers you.
> 
> As always, not beta read and typed out on my ancient phone so, all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“It's bad.”_

Abigail's tearful words echoed in John's head as he slowly crossed the yard to Arthur's wagon. 

How bad was bad? Was he maimed, beaten to a pulp and unrecognizable?  
Was Arthur dying right at this moment?  
A wave of nausea hit him at the thought, prickly points of heat itching down his spine.  
No, John thought, Arthur wouldn't go out like that. 

With feet made of lead and his heart hammering away, John reached the sealed off area and hesitated.  
He flashed on his future without Arthur and immediately shamed himself. Arthur lay a mere few feet away, still alive, and he was already wondering how life would be without him.  
John closed his eyes, steadied himself and tried to force back the hysterical sob that sat at the back of his throat.

 

A small gasp did manage to escape when a hand grasped him on the shoulder. John turned and there was Hosea, every bit of his lined face pinched with worry.

“John.” He greeted, his voice flat and serious.  
John watched as the elder man fumbled for his words, felt his worry in the tightness of his squeeze.  
“He asked about you.”

John swore his heart felt like it had cracked in his chest. Arthur had wanted him, and he was out getting fucking salt. His eyes flickered closed as he absorbed the news.  
Taking a shuddering breath in and John clapped Hosea's hand in support. “Well. I better not keep him waiting.”  
He pulled back the canvas and walked into the tiny area. 

Dutch sat in a chair by Arthur's bedside, patting Arthur's matted hair and promising all would be ok, but John barely noticed the man. 

Arthur laid sprawled in his little cot, limbs hanging off the sides and edge like always. He even wore the old red union suit John always teased him about, though now it was in tatters and cut away from his shoulder.

But his clothes and the way Arthur took up every inch of the bed was about all that was normal for the man. 

His face held more colors than John knew possible- purple and black bruises, red trickling from both nostrils.  
It was all a swollen mess, cuts and lashes that would probably need some stitches and cleaning out soon. His blonde hair was black and stiff in places with dirt and dried blood.

His shoulder though held the worse of horrors, at least visible to John.  
Though wrapped, the white cloth was stained with a dark red circle. It wasn't a massive thing, but it might as well been for the way it seemed to suck John in.

“I just reset that nose, so it should heal ok.” Hosea informed him briskly. “We're gonna have to watch the shoulder though,of course.”

John nodded mutely. He wanted to joke that Arthur would like a crooked nose, how we would claim it made him look more rugged.  
The words died on his parched lips.  
“Was he shot anywhere else?” He rasped.

Hosea shook his head. “Not that I can tell, though I haven't moved him much. Maybe you can help me later, after he rests a bit.”

He glanced at Hosea, tearing his eyes from the gunshot wound. His adopted father gave him a knowing look, full of sadness and understanding.  
“Of course.” John agreed quietly.

Hosea gave him a small smile and patted his arm.  
“Dutch, why don't we leave these two alone for a minute, go grab us a drink.”

Dutch agreed, but not before loudly proclaiming that revenge would be sweet and just, how he would personally see Colm dead. 

John didn't respond, just gladly took the seat Dutch had vacated.

Outside the tent Dutch boomed his orders that Arthur must live. “No expense spared! My boy must make it through this! I cannot lose him.”

Anger filled the cracks of him sadness missed. If only Dutch had listened to Arthur earlier, he wouldn't be half dea-

John stopped his thoughts and turned his attention to Arthur.  
Dutch had no room in his head at the moment. He _deserved_ no room in his head. 

With an unsteady hand, John touched Arthur's chest. He just had to be sure...  
Under his fingers, Arthur's heart beat steady on.  
John closed his eyes and savored the feel of life still running through Arthur.

“Ain't dead yet Marston.” Arthur croaked below him.

John smiled slowly, eyes still closed and face turned up to the ceiling. Oh he'd never been more glad to hear Arthur talk shit.  
“Well,” he drawled, turning back down to face Arthur. “You certainly look like death warmed over.”

Arthur smiled, grimaced at the pull on his busted lip. He opened his eyes to slits to stare up at John, blue barely visible.  
“I'm ok.” he whispered. “I'm fine.”

John sniffed and blinked back the sting of tears burning his eyes. He slipped his hand down and grabbed Arthur's hand firmly.  
“No you ain't, you crazy bastard. You got shot.”

Arthur grunted and shut his eyes. He muttered something John didn't catch and slipped back to sleep.

John watched him sleep for a few minutes, watched how his eyebrows furrowed and twitched in his fretful sleep.  
As gently as he could manage, he brushed his lips against Arthur's sweat-damp forehead.  
“I love you.” John whispered into his lover's ear. “I love you so damn much Arthur, you better be ok.”

Wiping his eyes, John rose and left Arthur's side soundlessly.  
He left the tent fully intending to find Dutch and demand to know what happened. He needed answers.

But in typical Dutch fashion, the man was already answering questions from the others as if he was a politician on the trail. 

“After the talks with Colm, I sent Micah back around to get Arthur while I watched to make sure the men were truly leaving.” Dutch explained.  
“When Micah came back and said Arthur was gone, we knew we had been set up.” 

“We all knew it was a trap this mornin’! If you would have listened, Arthur wouldn't be shot right now.” John cut in angrily.

All eyes turned to Dutch to see his reaction to being yelled at. Even if they all agreed with what John was saying, no one would scream it at Dutch like he did.

“Arthur knew there was a chance of things going wrong, he knows the risks of this life.” Dutch defended.

“So it's his fault for gettin’ shot?” John spat, hands balling to fist. 

Dutch lowered his tumbler of whiskey and squinted his eyes at John. “Don't put words in my mouth, son.”

John wanted to tell Dutch that he wasn't his damn son, that a father wouldn't use his sons as pawns.  
He wanted to scream that Arthur's life was worth more. That his, Jack's, Abigail's life was worth so much more than his dirty coins and unreachable dreams. 

But he thought of Arthur laying in his cot, trying not to die.  
If John got himself kicked out of camp for disowning Dutch, he couldn't very well drag Arthur with him.  
And what would happen of his son? Would Jack and Abigail take the brunt of Dutch's anger with him gone?

John swallowed his pride and put a pin in his anger. Today wasn't the day, he told himself. One day soon, but not today.  
“I'm just...pissed the fuck off.” John offered lamely.  
He never hated himself, and Dutch, more than right in that moment.

Dutch nodded and the glint of anger left his eyes. “We all are my boy, but we must not turn on each other! Use that anger to fuel our revenge!”

John had enough. He knew sitting and listening to another of Dutch's speeches he would be a dangerous test of his self control.  
He needed to find out more, so he went to hunt down Abigail to see if she had heard anything.  
The woman was quickly becoming the only other person in the camp he could trust, John realized.

 

Abigail was off to the side with Sadie, watching Dutch's antics and muttering to themselves.  
“Can you believe his shit?” John asked, lighting a cigarette. “Can't even admit it was a bad idea.”

“Did you expect otherwise?” Abigail sighed. “Dutch ain't gonna admit nothin’ in front of everybody.”

“Micah claimed they split up and went looking for him, but, consider the source.” Sadie said with a snort. 

John narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I'm sure they searched long and hard. So what exactly happened, how did Arthur show up?”

Always one for a good story, Abigail filled him in on the details he missed while he was out.  
“Not too long after you'd left, in come Dutch and Micah, and Dutch is just livid. He's yellin’ to everyone to get their guns, get their horse's ready, everybody was about to go find Arthur.”

Sadie nodded at the retelling. “I was at the pier and heard him carryin’ on clear as day. Made me drop my supper and everythin’.”

Abigail continued. “So while everyone is getting strapped to the teeth, Dutch sends Lenny and Charles out first to go make sure they weren't followed. Lenny apparently spotted Arthur's horse roamin’ free just past the camp.”

Good ol Sara Mae, John thought, his heart filling with love for the animal. He'd have to buy the horse a whole bushel of apples for making sure Arthur got home. 

“Luckily they found him before Dutch barreled into some big shoot out. Lenny said the first thing outta Arthur's mouth was to warn Dutch it was a setup.” Sadie added.

“Of course it was. Arthur would have used his dyin’ breath to warn us.” John said, shaking his head. He stabbed out his unsmoked cigarette, feeling too sick to even bother with smoking. 

Abigail rubbed his shoulder in comfort. “He'll be ok John. At least he's home now and we all can tend to him.”

“The first day or two is what really important. If he survives the night, he should be ok.” Sadie offered.  
Abigail shot her a look, to which the other woman just shrugged.  
“Hey, that's how it is with livestock! I figure people are about the same.”

Abigail started to chastise her friend, but stopped when John laughed weakly.  
“Well, Arthur's a bit of a horse's ass so maybe you're onto somethin’.”

Abigail giggled and swatted at them both. “Y'all are terrible! Just wait, when Arthur gets better I'm tattlin’.”

“Ain’t gonna be new information! He knows he's a horse's ass, I remind him daily.” John laughed.  
He glanced at Arthur's tent, still brightly lit despite the late hour.  
“I'm gonna go...” he trailed off, gesturing at the tent. 

He left the women and ducked back into Arthur's tent, finding Mrs.Grimshaw by his side, dapping at the cuts on his face.

“How's he doing?” John asked, hovering at the foot of Arthur's cot. 

“About as expected I imagine.” Mrs.Grimshaw said, “I do think this cut on his cheekbone needs mending though.”

She eyed the offending gash on Arthur's cheek and nodded in agreement with her findings. She glanced back at John. “You any good at stitches?”

John winced. He hated stitches, the pull and tugging of a needle through a wound was almost worse than getting the injury itself.  
“Not especially. Is Hosea still awake? He did mine.”

The older woman hesitated, wringing her bloody cloth out into a bucket of water. “Hosea isn't in the best shape himself, I don't think we should get him to do this task right now.”

John gave her a confused look, wrinkling his brow in thought. He didn't didn't remember the man complaining of sickness. Maybe a stray cough here and there, but that wasn't new.  
“Ok.” He said slowly. “Guess I'll help as best I can then.”

Mrs.Grimshaw looked relieved.”Good, thank you John. I would do it myself, but my eyes aren't what they use to be.”

She pulled the worn leather doctor's bag the gang kept their special emergency supplies in out and onto her lap.  
“Now, I do believe our Mr. Morgan here is starting to run a fever. So we'll need this," she pulled a glass bottle of aspirin out. “Oh and this! Honestly we haven't used this yet, but no time like the present.”

She patted a small tin labeled ‘Suture Supplies’ before handing it over to John.  
He opened it curiously. Inside the tin were all sorts of pointy and angry looking needles, tweezers and scissors. They all made John nervous, knowing very soon he was going to be expected to use them.  
“When did we get this?” He asked, examining a glass tube filled with shimmering threads hooked to needles. He almost was scared to touch them.

“Oh one of the girls found it on a doctor, probably didn't even know what it was they stole.” Mrs. Grimshaw tsked. “But the threads there are made from silk, pretty high class.”

“Did they happen to steal any instructions too?” John joked. He finally braved picking up a tube and gave it a tiny shake, the small needles inside clinking slightly.

“I do believe there are instructions, luckily for us.” Mrs.Grimshaw said, though even she didn't seem too thrilled to play doctor either. “I'll read them out to you while we go.”

“It's safer than anything we've ever had at hand though. Those threads are sanitized so don't go touching them with your hands.”  
She eyed him up and down. “In fact, go scrub your hands with hot water and soap first. I'll get some of this asprin in him while I'm waiting.”

With an exasperated sigh, John went and done as ordered. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Mrs. Grimshaw kind of scared him. The no-nonsense way she went about ordering around everyone sort of reminded him of a particular nun at the orphanage.

He hurried back to the tent, just in time to see Arthur knock the pills out of Mrs.Grimshaw’s hand in a fever-induced rage.  
“Mr. Morgan!” She proclaimed in shock, hand at her throat.

“No damn pills!” Arthur slurred, knocking his head back onto his pillow. “Git outta here.”

Mouth agape, Mrs.Grimshaw blinked for a second at such uncharacteristic rudeness. She recovered quickly though and all but wagged her finger at the sick man.  
“Well I most certainly will not! You are sick Mr.Morgan, you have to take your medicine!”

In bed Arthur groaned and struggled to sit up. “I'll go, I'll go myself.”

John unglued hs feet and launched himself at Arthur, grabbing both of the man's wrists.  
“And where the hell do you think you're gonna go?”

Face flushed and sweaty, Arthur stared at him as if trying to think of an answer.  
“ 'm thirsty.” 

John rolled his eyes and gently pushed the man back on the bed. “Well, let's sit down and have a drink of water with these pills”

He motioned for items, one hand still firmly on Arthur's forearm.  
“Open your mouth.”

Arthur obeyed John's command immediately, parting his lips and drawing out a string of 'aaahs’.

“Now, swallow these pills then you can have some water.” John ordered. He placed two aspirin onto Arthur's tongue, and even though he recoiled at the bitter taste, Arthur dutifully swallowed down the medicine.

“Now, water.”  
John brought the tin cup to Arthur's lips. He drank until the cup was empty, sputtering and coughing for more.

“Later. Now me and Mrs. Grimshaw here are gonna have to stitch that cheek right quick ok?” John warned. He handed the kit to a dumbfounded Mrs.Grimshaw to study.

Arthur growled in annoyance. “I don't need no damn stitches!”  
John just hummed and dabbed at Arthur's cheek with a cloth Mrs.Grimshaw handed him.  
Arthur jerked and cursed a blue strike, swatting at John's hand. “What the 'ell are you doin’ Marston?”

“There's a bit of alcohol on that rag.” Mrs.Grimshaw explained lowly. She grabbed the lantern and held it above John so he could better see. ”Let's get this over with.”

Arthur shielded his eyes and leaned his head against the canvas walls on the tent. “Always waitin’ for you John…”

John had a feeling feverish, angry Arthur might just become talkative, and that he should very well get on with it before Arthur spouted out too much.

“Lay down and keep your head still ok?” John instructed.  
Arthur fell back in a heap, moaning in pain and clutching at his shoulder.

“Easy!” John yelled, mostly in fright. Stitches he could fumble his way through, but he couldn't help Arthur's shoulder.

Scooting closer, he tilted Arthur's face until his slashed cheek was bathed in the lantern light. Underneath his palm, Arthur's face burned hot with fever. Poor guy couldn't catch a break, John thought sympathetically.

After carefully breaking the vile that held the threaded needle, Mrs.Grimshaw instructed him on how to use a long, scissors looking tool called a needle holder to start the stitches and a pair of oversized tweezers to help.

“This is gonna sting, don't go crazy on me ok?” John warned Arthur.  
Arthur sighed. “Everythin’ always hurts.”  
His words hit John, making his heart break a little more. One day life won't be so painful, he promised Arthur mentally.

With the fish-hook like needle secured in the holder and Mrs.Grimshaw breathing down his neck, John lifted up the torn flap of skin with his tweezers. "I'll be easy." he promised Arthur.

“Oh I trust yah John, trust you with my whole damn life.” Arthur said, voice muffled by his pillow. 

John laughed lightly, sweat starting to bead down his face. God he was nervous. He'd only done stitches once before and almost threw up the entire time. Doing them with such fancy tools and on a sick Arthur was almost too much to handle.

“There you go John, now slip in the needle. Not too hard, mind.” Mrs.Grimshaw praised.

Nodding, John locked his jaw and got almost eye to eye with Arthur's gash. He lined up the needle with the jagged flap of skin he had raised and punctured through with a messy exhale.

Arthur hissed and fussed some, but John could tell even in his fevered state he was trying not to jump.

“Outside to inside John, you're not sewing a dress.” Mrs.Grimshaw scolded.  
John wanted to point out he hadn't even moved the needle yet, and he'd never sewed a dress either but kept quiet. 

Slowly he pulled the thread through the wound and out the opposite side as instructed.  
“Ok, now what?”

There was a rattle of paper as Mrs.Grimshaw read off instructions with her free hand. She told him how to wrap the stands around the needle holder, how to pull Arthur's torn skin back together (“Not too tightly!”) and to tie off the ends in a tiny knot.

By the time John had snipped away the extra bit of thread, he was exhausted but proud.  
Arthur's wound held one stitch, even if was a little big and crooked, it was holding. 

Mrs.Grimshaw patted him on the back. “Very well done John! Now, I say he needs about 4 or so more?”

Arthur cursed in answer.

 

By the time John had finished tying off the last stitch, his neck and eyes both ached from the strain.  
Tossing the kit back into the bag, he shook out his cramped hand. “Guess I can check 'be a doctor’ off my life to-do list.”

“You did good Dr.Marston.” Mrs.Grimshaw joked warmly. 

He grinned. “Couldn't have done it without Nurse Grimshaw at my side.”

Buttoning her bag close, Mrs.Grimshaw chuckled. “I always wanted to be a nurse. And please, call me Susan. I think after tonight we're on first name terms.”

John smiled. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all, he thought.  
“Now, you better get some rest before you end up needing tending to yourself.” She lectured as she packed up. He even got the finger wag she saved from Arthur.  
“Goodnight John.”

“Goodnight...Susan.” John answered.

She left the tent with a smile on her face.  
John felt a little bittersweet, that mending Arthur's face was what broke the ice for them after all these years.

He glanced down at Arthur, who was already picking at the gauze dressing on his face.  
“Don't do that.” John scolded, capturing Arthur's hand in his own.  
He brushed his lips over Arthur's dry knuckles, kissed the veins that thankfully, wonderfully, still rushed with blood and life.

“You did good with your stitches, now you need to rest.” John whispered quietly.  
Still holding Arthur's hand, he twisted in his chair to blow out the lantern. 

Arthur jolted at the sudden dark, patting his sides as if looking for his pistols.  
John calmed him, squeezing his hands and filling his ears with whispers of comfort.  
“It's ok, you're ok. I'm here with you.”

 

Throughout the night, Arthur would jolt out of his near-sleep state in a urgent need to leave and take care of something important.  
John had to calm him and talk Arthur out of seeing to his horse, finding his guns, and on more than one occasion going to find John himself.  
It was nerve wracking and heartbreaking work convincing the feverish man that all was well and the lay down. But John didn't dare fall in too deep a sleep sitting beside Arthur, scared he might somehow sleep through an attempted escape. 

To keep himself awake, John made up a mental to-do list of all the things that needed to be done before they could leave.  
First, he figured he should go see how much train tickets that far off even cost. He and Arthur wouldn't need any fancy sleeping car or anything, but he'd want Abigail and Jack to be comfortable and safe.

After that, he'd have to count his money and pool together with whatever little dollars Abigail had on hand. Get her and Jack's tickets bought and squared away.

Then they'd just have to pull a couple fast ones on some stagecoaches, rob a few people blind, and they'd be out.

Dirty money used for good cancels out the sin of how they got it, John figued. If not, well, that was ok too. Just as long as it got them all out of this.

Just before dawn, Arthur's fever broke. John noticed the man was sleeping more soundly, and a quick press to his forehead revealed it was cooler.  
He could have cried with relief then and there. They had all heard tales of fever sickness, of grown men turned to feeble minded children when a powerful fever cooked their brains.  
After surviving and escaping the O'Driscolls, Arthur deserved so much more than his own body rebelling against him.

Near dizzy with relief, John thought idly of going and brewing some coffee. The camp would be waking soon and there was no telling what Dutch had in-store for them after recent events.  
Instead, he crossed his arms and laid his head down by Arthur's hip.  
He fell asleep listening to Arthur's breathing, the rhythmic in and out soothing his worried mind.

 

Waking up was almost a punishment in itself.  
Arthur felt as weak as a newborn foal, liquid and fluid as water yet still feeling as if he was weighed down by rocks.  
The pain in his shoulder quieted from a loud screaming thing to a dull roar. He guessed that was process, even if it didn't really feel like it. 

Out of sight, he heard John's familiar snoring, just as raspy as his speaking voice.  
Arthur smiled, his bandaged cheek crinkling. John must have been on night watch, guarding Arthur from himself.  
He scooted his hand down until John's warm head was under his palm, just cupping the back of his head.

 

John woke to Arthur slowly stroking his head with his thumb. He'd never woken up to anything better.  
Lifting his stiff neck, he pulled Arthur's hand in his own and laced their fingers.  
"You survived the night."

Arthur grunted and gave him a small smile. "Seems that way. Sure doesn't feel it though."

John told Arthur Sadie's theory on livestock turn people surviving the night. Arthur chuckled deeply, wincing at the pain that shot through his shoulder.  
"Well let's hope she's right about that one. Help me up, will you?"

He stood and grasped Arthur by his good hand and heaved him into a sitting position.  
"There, you good?" John asked, propping his pillow behind him. 

"John don't fuss, I'm fine." Arthur sighed. Before he could comment, Arthur took John by the chin to look him in the eyes. "I'm fine."

Arthur tugged him closer to kiss him softly, lips dry and slightly chapped. He could barely pucker without feeling pain somewhere, but they both needed the touch so badly he ignored it.

John wasn't ashamed of the whimper that escaped him, a broken quiet thing from deep within. He brought both of his hands to cup Arthur's battered face, not deepening the kiss but just needing _more._

He pulled just far enough away to stare into Arthur's eyes, finding them soft and misting over like his own.  
The need to speak his feelings rose inside John suddenly as he stared into Arthur's eyes. He had to tell his partner some of the desperate thoughts churning in his head.  
How could he express the gnawing worry eating him, or the desperate need to protect and build Arthur back up to health. Or maybe the bloodlust that was barely held at bay,not only for Colm's head, but Dutch's and Micah's too.

Arthur must have seen the dilemma playing out on his face, for he smiled and kissed John again.  
"Don't hurt yourself Marston,all that thinkin' is gonna shock your brain."

John laughed, but his reply was cut off by the clinking of dishes and loud throat clearing from outside the tent.  
He stumbled a bit back into his chair and in walked a slightly flushed Mrs.Grimshaw holding a tray of food and medicine.

"Good morning you two. Arthur, I've got some breakfast for you here." She said, not meeting anyone's eye. Instead of focusing on either man, Susan busied herself with pouring water and stirring a bowl of grits. 

John wanted to snicker into his hand like a little boy. It was obvious the woman had been eavesdropping, and that her findings left her flustered. 

Tucking a napkin into Arthur's shirt, she placed the tray on his lap. "Now you eat your fill. After you're done, I'll have a bath ready for you."  
She turned and faced John,cheeks naturally glowing red under all her rouge. "You may leave now John, Arthur needs to eat without... distraction, and Dutch wants to see you." 

John's temporary good mood left as quick as it came. He stood with a groan. "Well when the master calls…"

Susan ignore him, making a fuss over opening up Arthur's enclosed wagon for the 'fresh air'.  
John bid Arthur bye and a happy bath time and reluctantly trudged to Dutch's tent.

Dutch stood with Lenny, nodding along to something the young gunslinger was telling him.  
He turned his attention to John the second he was in view.  
"John my boy, where have you been hiding?"

John fought back a sneer and just shrugged. "I've been around."

Dutch's eyed him for a moment,but didn't comment further. Instead he clapped Lenny on shoulder. "We have to move out, and our Lenny here was just telling me about the perfect place."

Even though he knew they had to move out, John wasn't thrilled with the idea. With Arthur being so weak and not even scabbed over, the hustle and bustle of moving might be too much on him.

"Where at?" John asked Lenny himself.  
Lenny hesitated before speaking, clearly reading John's attitude towards Dutch.  
"Not too far. It's a big ol' rundown house called Shady Belle, right smack in the bayou outside St Denis."

Sounds like a breeding ground for gators, snakes, and every class of blood sucking bug there was, John thought. Would make a hell of a place for Arthur to recover. 

"Might be some stragglers left. I want you and Lenny to go check it out, clear it out for us." Dutch instructed.

John nodded to Lenny. "Let me go get my rifle and I'll meet you by the horses."

 

The house was a dilapidated rundown shack, but wasn't heavily guarded. Not too many men desperate enough to stay squirrelled away in such a dump, except the Van der lin gang.

After making quick work of the leftover men, Lenny and John took a moment to explore the ruins.  
"Walls and a roof, guess we're moving on up in the world." John said sarcastically, kicking at a pile of rubble.

Lenny snorted. "Yeah until one good storm comes and blows this place away."

John tried to push a makeshift barricade of crates and boxes out of a doorway, but the cobbled together mess collapsed at his feet.  
"Well that works too." Lenny joked, kicking a stray box.

A scraping sound of metal against the old wooden floor caught his ear. John went to the discarded box and sure enough, a small lockbox had fallen out  
"Well lookie here. Guess they were guardin' somethin' after all."

Lenny came to investigate and handed John his pocket knife to jimmy the rusted lid open.  
John broke into the rusted box with ease, barely needing the knife's help.  
Inside the box there was an old pocket watch, but hidden underneath it was a money clip almost straining with the bills it held.

Lenny whistled. "Damn! With all this, why the hell were they stayin' here?!"

John laughed, the question hitting home in more ways than Lenny knew.  
"Well they might have forgot about it, or never knew 'bout it to begin with."

He tugged the bills out the clip and divided the money directly in half. He handed Lenny a stack of bills, a good $150.  
"Here, take this and don't tell anyone about what we found."

Lenny took the bills, but frowned. "What about the camp's share?"

John plucked the pocket watch out the box and shined it on his shirt. "I reckon this is worth about $10. That can buy a lot of provisions, don't you think?"

"I guess. Still, don't seem right. That's not how we do things…" Lenny said, still not convinced. "Arthur wouldn't do it like that, hell he always preaches about the camp's cut."

John pocketed his money and the watch, then went to loot the pockets of the man they caught inside.  
"The way I see it," he began, patting down the pocket's of the man. "Arthur shouldn't be so worried about Dutch's share when he almost died from Dutch's greed."  
He dropped the body back down with a thump, pocketing the few dollars he found. 

"And answer me this, have you ever seen _Dutch's_ name in that ledger?" John asked. He heaved the corpse up and onto his shoulder.  
"I'm gonna dump these bodies into the water, you can go on and tell Dutch it's all clear."

Lenny didn't move, still sizing him up after seeing the new side of John. "So, what, you don't trust Dutch anymore?"

"I'm just not putting all my eggs in one basket, is all. You shouldn't either, you need to have a backup plan for when Dutch drags us all through hell." John warned. He left Lenny to his thoughts, the dead weight on his shoulders feeling heavier than just the man's.


	5. When Opportunity Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Arthur heals from his gunshots, John gets a bit too careless trying to scrap together money for their plans to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warning needed for this chapter, and finally a little smut! Woo! They deserve it I reckon.  
> Please enjoy and comment 💙

Recovery was hard, harder than he thought it would be.  
Arthur wasn't as young as he use to be, and his body reminded him of the fact every second of the day. 

The first week or so, Arthur couldn't remember, fevers came and went. He'd wake up a sweaty mess, weak and brittle around the edges, to find he'd missed whole chunks of days.  
He felt like time stood still, nothing else existing except pain and heat. 

He finally woke up one morning naturally, without being damp with sweat from fighting a fever all night. Arthur decided then he'd better leave his bed, before the fever remembered him.  
For days he hobbled around the new camp like an old man heading to the grave, grabbing and clutching whatever he passed for balance.

It was mainly the blood he lost that made him so weak, they told him. It would make a strong man fold every time, they preached.  
Arthur knew it was his body tired of getting pushed to the tattered ends of it's limits.

But the gang rallied around him. Nursing him back to health became everyone's personal pet project. 

Hosea and Javier compared old timey remedies from the plains to Mexico, each elixir stronger and more stout than the last.  
Karen snuck him nips of whiskey, little Jack books and clover flowers to brighten his bedside.  
Sweet Mary Beth even told him of some strength building exercises she had read about, going as far as to fashioning a bit of rubber he was suppose to wrap about his hands and stretch out.  
It hurt like hell, but she asked about his process so often Arthur felt guilty if he didn't try it. 

And of course his John.  
Arthur was worried he was stretching himself too thin with all he was doing. The man never seemed to rest, only ate when Tilly brought them both steaming bowls of chicken soup.  
When he wasn't fussing and tending to Arthur, John disappeared from the camp the second no one was looking. Like a jackrabbit, there one minute, gone the next.

It was when he returned to Arthur's bedside late at night, he filled Arthur in on his comings and goings.

"I got that stagecoach coming up from Blackwater, had to use the rest of my dynamite but it was well worth it." John whispered. He patted his coat pocket. "I already have enough to get Abigail and Jack there, just need a little more to make sure they're taken care of."

"Don't go overboard. Too many stagecoaches goin' down is gonna bring too much attention this way." Arthur said seriously. 

John was annoyed, Arthur could see it in the twitch of his lips and the lines on his forehead. He wanted praise and a slap on the back, not to be lectured.  
"I'm not out killin' people for the sport of it, I'm doing it for us."

"All the money in the world ain't gonna mean shit if you're dead." Arthur told him. "Promise me you'll cool it on the coaches for awhile."

Even though he knew Arthur was right, John couldn't help but feel aggravated and put out.  
He's the one who was out tracking down the damn stagecoach, taking down armed guard after armed guard until he could fill this pockets. 

"Don't mope." Arthur sighed. He shifted in the small bed until his back was pressed against the crumbling wall. "Come up here."

John huffed, but flopped in the sliver of free space Arthur freed up.  
Arthur immediately pulled him closer and kissed his forehead.  
"I know how hard you've been workin', John. I know it's all for us, but you gotta be more careful."

John sighed and rested his hand on Arthur's sharp hip bone. "I saw the train schedule the other day. There's a line headed to New York in 3 weeks. I gotta step it up some."

"Don't get caught up on paddin' your pockets. It's a dangerous game." Arthur warned. He rested his scarred cheek against John's hair and stared at the wall that separated him from Dutch.

As if reading his thoughts, John squeezed Arthur's hip. "I ain't pullin' a Dutch, and if you ever suggest such a thing again I'll have to sock you one, shot or not."

Arthur chuckled and kissed John's head. "Fair enough, but I'm serious about the coaches."

Somewhat reluctantly, John agreed.  
There were other ways of making a few bucks after all, though not a lot that paid so well doing them alone. 

"How you feelin' here lately?" John asked, nose pressed against the hollows of Arthur's throat. He didn't smell as sickly as he once did at least. The smell of old blood and sweat that had clung to Arthur made him nauseous for more than just scent alone.

Now he smelled clean and soft, like washed bed clothes and soap. It beat the sickly smell, but it still wasn't Arthur. His Arthur smelled like a healthy sweat, tobacco smoke, gunpowder and a dash of horse.  
John couldn't wait for the day Arthur smelled like Arthur again. He almost told the man, but kept his thoughts to himself. 

"I'm makin' it." Arthur sighed. "Starting to get my strength back, finally."

John ghosted his fingers over the shiny pink starburst of a scar. "Shoulder seems to be healin' up well."

Arthur hummed in agreement. "Still stiff, but I'm workin on it. Maybe I'll test it out by fishin' tomorrow."

John smiled slowly against the knot of Arthur's adam's apple. He knew what fishing meant, of course. Fishing with Arthur was sex, hot and quick and a desperate need for release.  
"Oh, fishin' huh? Sure you're up for it?"

Arthur chuckled, his chest rumbling against John's. "I am more than up to it darlin', I'm positively _achin'_ for it."  
He shifted and caught one of John's legs between his own, pressing his hardening cock against John's thigh.

John whistled lowly in appreciation and grinded his captured leg against Arthur's crotch. "Seems like you're ready for a trip now _darlin'._ "  
He skimmed his finger along the waistband of Arthur's long underwear, smirking at how Arthur jerked when he brushed the head of his dick. 

"It's not right to tease a sick man." Arthur said gruffly. He trailed his hand down the knots of John's spine to knead at his ass. "You should be more sympathetic."

John laughed and replaced his leg with his hand, cupping Arthur through the thin material of his pants. "You don't feel too sick to me." He squeezed Arthur's dick for emphasis.

In an impressive show of strength, Arthur laid back and swung John up and on top of him before John could react. He wiggled out his long underwear and kicked them aside, making sure to arch and rub against John in the process.  
"You're right, I ain't sick, just impatient."

Grinning, John glanced down at Arthur's naked and very much at attention dick pressed against his own. "Impatient huh. And tell me, Mr.Morgan, what are you impatient for?"  
He rolled his hips slowly, making Arthur swear and jerk underneath him.

"Oh lots of things," Arthur drawled, "but right now all I want is that tongue of yours wrapped around my dick." He gripped John's hips and pushed him down harder.

John almost purred like a cat he was so pleased. Arthur pouring out the dirty talk in that honeyed tone of his made John's cheeks blush and dick throb.  
He slipped down to the end of the bed and nudged Arthur's legs open, squeezing between them. "Like this?" John asked, feigning innocence.

Circling Arthur's dick in his hand, John did just as Arthur asked. He dragged his tongue across every inch of silky skin, from his thick shaft to his glistening head, John made sure every inch of Arthur's cock was worshiped and tasted. 

He glanced up though hooded eyes at Arthur, the man staring down at him in slack-jawed awe.  
John didn't break eye contact as he smoothly took as much of Arthur as he could into his mouth.  
Above him he heard Arthur moan his name, felt his heavy hand stroke and cup his head.

"God _damn_ you love a dick in your mouth, don't you?" Arthur moaned, toes curling into the thin mattress. 

"Only yours." John corrected, brushing open mouth kisses against Arthur's length. He slipped his hand into his pants and squeezed his aching dick. 

Arthur chuckled breathlessly and stroked John's cheek. "Then I'm a lucky man."

John hummed around Arthur's dick, bobbing his head as he sucked messily. The air in the dingy room filled with Arthur's wanton moans and curses, John's wet slurps and slaps at himself.  
He could tell Arthur was close, the muscular legs that surrounded him stretched and shook as he arched tight as a bow. He palmed Arthur's taunt balls, a gentle pressure he knew his lover liked.

"Fuck John, I'm close." Arthur confirmed through gritted teeth. He yanked tightly at John's hair, holding him in place on his dick as he thrusted up and into John's ready mouth.

John moaned, stretching his mouth as wide open as possible to let Arthur fuck him. He finally tugged his own pants down enough to free his dick, pumped furiously at his rock hard cock.

Arthur must have heard or caught a glimpse of John. His grip tightened a fraction, John's hair tangling between his fingers and John's name on his lips as he came.

He sputtered once, but John swallowed the sudden mouthful of salt-twanged seed that burst forth from Arthur.  
John pulled off Arthur's now hypersensitive cock and kissed his inner thigh, his quivering stomach.  
With Arthur panting above him and his spent dripping down his chin, John came with his face buried in Arthur's flat belly, nostrils flared and puffing like an animal.

"C'mere." Arthur muttered, unwinding his hand from John's hair. "Get up here to me."  
John crawled up Arthur and collapsed back by his side.  
"I would have…" Arthur offered, gesturing to John's dick. 

"Guess I was impatient myself."John laughed, wiping his face on his shirt. He wrapped his arm around Arthur's broad chest and latched himself onto the man, eye to eye once again with the raised scar on Arthur's shoulder.  
"You can make it up to me tomorrow, when we go fishin'. "

-

The next morning John was surprised when Lenny tapped him on the shoulder and asked for a word.

"Right after I lose at tic-tac-toe to my son here." John answered. He watched over the rim of his coffee mug as Jack studied the paper carefully, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.  
With a whoop of glee, Jack quickly drew a wobbly X in the remaining empty square. "I win again Pa!"

John grinned and drained his cup, leaning over to ruffle Jack's hair. "That you did! Just wait, I'll get you back when we play poker."

"No gambling." Abigail called out automatically as she walked by.

John winked at Jack before standing and turning his full attention to Lenny. "What's on your mind?"

Lenny glanced around the busy camp and motioned for John to walk with him. Together they walked to pile of ashes that was the scout campfire. Still Lenny glanced around as if nervous.  
He dug in his pockets and handed John a slip of paper, a crudely drawn map of sorts.

"What's all this?" John asked. It was just a few simple lines, the fork in the road out at Catfish Jackson's according to the writing. 

"I got word about this stagecoach, ain't suppose to be guarded at all." Lenny explained. "I want you to help me, quiet like."

John raised his brows and shot Lenny a disbelieving look. "You mean just you and me sharin' the profits, 50/50."

Lenny nodded. "That's right."

He glanced down at the map in hand. It sounded good. A coach not guarded to the teeth would be nice for a change, and Lenny was a decent shot for backup.  
A nagging voice reminded John of his promise to Arthur about no coaches.  
He'd be pissed, John scolded himself. Hurt, worried, upset, and definitely pissed as all get out.

Lenny shifted, full of nervous energy. "Well. You in?"

"Definitely. Let's go." John said with a grin. He'd apologize to Arthur later with a set of train tickets.  
He, they, needed the money and with Arthur out of the game it was up to John to make it up.

Lenny patted his pistol with a smile. "Saddle up! Let's head out!"

John hesitated for a second. He wanted to tell somebody something about where they were going, just incase. After all the shit that had happened recently, he figured he should be a little careful in his robbery.

"Let me go grab something, I'll meet you by the horses." John told Lenny. He quickly went for Abigail, keeping an eye out to avoid Arthur.

"Hey if Arthur asks if you've seen me, tell him I'm out with Lenny." He told her quickly.

Abigail narrowed her dark eyes at him, obviously sensing a scheme about to go down. "And why can't you go tell him yourself?"

John huffed in annoyance. "Abigail, hell! Just tell him where I'm at and don't make a big deal of it!"

Abigail frowned. "I don't wanna be gettin' in the middle of y'all's couple's drama."

"Keep your voice down, shit Abigail!" John growled, glancing around for any spectators.  
"It's not 'drama' ok? It's just an errand I have to go take care of."

"What are you up to?" Abigail demanded to know.

John groaned and tried to keep from exploding. The woman could be stubborn as a damn mule.  
"I have some business to take care of, some money makin' business."

Abigail opened her mouth, no doubt to lecture, John was sure.  
Waving off her complaints, John quickly left the camp before being he was spotted by Arthur. 

-

For going on ten minutes, Lenny and John waited crouched behind large boulders, the unrelenting Summer sun beating down on them from overhead.

"Should'av been here by now." Lenny muttered, glancing at his pocket watch yet again. He peeked around the bolder as if he somehow missed the stagecoach arriving.

John sat with his back to the rock, not bothering to open his eyes. "Maybe someone else got it first."  
A part of him hoped so. He felt a little guilty breaking his promise to Arthur barely a day after he made it.  
But he would get over it. Eventually.

Lenny's fidgeting stopped for a second as he pondered such a thing.  
"Nah. Probably got hung up by a train, or weather, or-"  
He stopped suddenly at the distance sounds of horse hooves and the creaking of a wagon. 

John sat up and slipped his bandana over his nose and mouth.  
Sure enough, the coach didn't have guards, just the two men on the seat of the wagon.  
It all felt a little too easy though and made the hair on the back of his neck stand.

Lenny copied John and hid his eager grin behind a faded bandana.  
"Pay day John, let's go get it!"

In a flash, Lenny was up and had pistol drawn before John could catch him.  
"Not yet Lenny!" He hissed, still hiding behind the rock. "Get back down!"

Lenny didn't pay him any regard. Instead he boomed for the wagon to stop, pistol flashing in the air.  
"This is a robbery my good men! Stop the wagon and empty the safe, or this darkie will fill you with lead!"

John groaned, Lenny was putting on a show for them for sure. Still hidden, he watched the men raise their hands in surrender a little too quickly.  
That never happened, driver's didn't just surrender without at least attempting to fight or flee.  
Something was up.

He stood up quick as a flash and with his own pistol ready. "Anyone in there better get out, now!"  
There was a split second pause, where everyone was waiting to see the other's move.  
Standing his ground, John had his eyes locked on the stage's door while Lenny focused on the men in the driver's seat.  
"I said out now or I'm firin'!" He called, cocking his gun for good measure.

The stagecoach doors swung open and two uniformed lawmen barreled out, guns high.  
"US Marshals, drop your guns now!" One bellowed, aiming directly at Lenny's head.

John took the first shot with no remorse. Someone had to go down, and John wasn't about to be it.  
The officer staggering back as two shot hit his chest in rapid succession, dropped in a heap a second before his fellow officer could react.

Lenny had the good sense to run and dip for cover behind a pine tree, leaving John to dive back behind his rock.

"Goddamnit!" He cursed as bullets whizzed above him. "This stage better be loaded Lenny!"

-

Arthur whistled happily as he fiddled with his cane pole. He fully intended to get a little fishing in at some point in the day, between romps with John anyways.  
He grinned as he tightened the knot on his new fishing line. A man needs a few minutes to catch his second wind, he figured he might as well fished while he reloaded. 

Loading up his saddlebag, Arthur frowned when he noticed John's horse missing. Most every man at the camp had their own horse, and the women usually didn't go into town alone. No one else but John could be riding the horse. 

He patted his own mount and double checked the yard for any sign of John.  
"Now where the hell did he run off to?" Arthur asked himself.

Grumbling, he gave Sara Mae the rest of her carrot before heading back to the camp.  
"Hey, you seen John?" He asked Karen and Tilly.  
The women both shook their heads, said they haven't today.

He spotted Abigail gathering dishes, but when the woman caught sight of Arthur heading her way she turned and quickly walked in the opposite direction.

Arthur frowned and quickened his pace. He knew a guilty face when he saw one.  
"Abigail, hold up a minute!"

He found her leaning against the side of Strauss' wagon, clutching the dish tub.

"Oh, hi Arthur! How are you?" She greeted sweetly, as if she wasn't just trying to avoid him.

He studied her curiously. "Well I'm just fine Miss Abigail. I'd be better if I knew why you was avoidin' me like I'm a leper."

Abigail laughed, high and fake as she juggled her dish tub. "A leper! You're such a kidder Arthur."  
She inched past him, ready to bolt.  
With a quick side step, Arthur blocked her escape route. "Where's John?"

"Well I surely don't know, I'm not his keeper." Abigail said tartly, dishes clanking noisily. "That's your job I do believe."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn't move. "Abigail. What do you know."

She shifted the dish tub to her hip, avoiding Arthur's stare. "He's out."

"Out." Arthur repeated. "Well that really breaks it down for me Abigail, thank you."

Abigail rolled her own eyes and blew a strand of hair out her face. "Look, he told me to tell you he had business to take care of with Lenny. That's all I know."

"With Lenny?" Arthur asked in confusion.

"That's right, said he had some some 'money makin' business' to take care of." Abigail explained. 

Arthur nodded and walked away, still rolling around the info in his mind. Why, and how, would John go about making money with Lenny, Arthur wondered.  
The last idea Lenny pitched to Arthur was that new stagecoach route, but Arthur shot down the idea. Too good to be true, he said, don't trust any coaches that seem to be unguarded.

Lenny had been disappointed his hot tip went nowhere, and John had promised Arthur no more reckless robberies.  
Surely, _surely_ , it was something else the men were doing. A big poker game, a vacant house to go loot, anything but the one specific thing Arthur told John to steer clear of.  
. 

Grinding his teeth, Arthur slowly stomped to his horse. He had to go take a look around, just to be sure. If John was headed to a jail cell, he needed to know sooner than the obituary was printed  
Anger rising, he mounted Sara Mae and galloped out of the camp slowly.  
There wasn't a big rush, he told himself, he definitely wasn't going to find John out and about,slapping him in the face.

Arthur nudged Sara Mae a little faster, barely a tap of his spurs against the well-trained horse. 

Catfish Jackson's wasn't far from Shady Belle, just a quick horse ride, quicker if he cut through the Braithwaite property, but Arthur avoided the charred remains of the manor.  
He wondered what John thought of, when he passed the manor grounds.  
Did the same panic and anger wash over him, or did the rubble fuel his drive to leave?

It wasn't until he heard gunshots, multiple and rapid, did Arthur really dig his spurs into Sara Mae's flanks, urging the horse faster.  
Whatever John's feelings where, Arthur would have to find out later, after he stopped beating his ass.

-

They weren't even outnumbered, just the remaining lawman and the other driver. Two on two, shouldn't have even been an issue taking them down.  
They just kept ducking and dodging so much, John couldn't get a hit in. At the rate he was shooting, John was worried he was going to run out of ammo before the men dropped. Or worse, fled for good.

Cursing, John slapped more rounds in his gun. He knew this needed to end now, before too much attention came their way. With all the noise, he was sure someone had heard and alerted the law already.  
He heard a howl and popped up to see that Lenny had landed a shot, in the arm of one of men but a hit nonetheless.  
The injured man dropped his gun to clutch his wound, in his pain forgetting to duck again for cover. 

Gun raised, John's finger barely had time to squeeze the trigger when a shot rang out from behind him and struck the man in the side of his head.

He whipped around, thinking Lenny ran over to join him, but it was Arthur behind him.

Even with bullets flying and knowing Arthur was pissed at him, John had to admire the man.  
Arthur stood barely attempting to hid behind the bolder, so sure of himself. Even with being shot and hurt, he trusted his aim and speed to save them all before he even needed to duck. 

The gunslinger didn't speak to John, just squinted in the sun and dropped the remaining lawman like the hidden man stood bigger than life. 

He holstered his gun, and glanced down at John.  
"I said no more stagecoaches."

John scrambled to his feet, the difference in height making him feel even more like a scolded boy.  
"It was supposed to be unguarded." He said loudly enough for Lenny to hear.

Lenny was already in the coach, sidestepping bodies like they were nothing. He held up their prize, a couple of billfolds of money. "Hey there's some money here!"

Arthur didn't even glance at the money, his steely gaze locked on John. "I didn't say go after 'unguarded' coaches, I said no more at all."

John felt cornered, more so than he did during the shoot out. He snatched his bandana off his face and wiped his brow. "I know you did, but dammit Arthur, I had to take the chance."

Lenny appeared and handed Arthur and John each a money clip. "Here you are fellas."  
He fanned himself with his bills, smile on his face. "Not the total payout I wanted, but hey, cash is cash!"  
Arthur reached over and tucked his money clip into John's front pocket. "John can have mine. The money means more to him I reckon."

He turned to Lenny. "I ain't gonna lecture you again. Let this be a lesson to you, no stages ever go completely unguarded."  
Lenny nodded and pocketed his money. "I know. I'm sorry Arthur. I guess I just really wanted a lead of mine to work out."

Arthur slapped him on the shoulder. "Least you're alive, right? Go move some of those bodies out the road, will draw less attention."

He glanced back at John, the younger man fuming with anger.  
"Go help Lenny, I'm gonna take this coach up to Emerald Ranch, try to sell it and the horses."

As he started to walk away, John grabbed him by the elbow. "So I get shit while Lenny gets a slap on the fuckin' shoulder? And what the hell do you mean, the money means more to me?"

"Lenny's barely more than a boy, you should've known this was a damn trap."  
Arthur gestured to the bodies Lenny was hauling, the empty coach.  
"And obviously what I want means nothin' to you, so, go ahead, do what you want."

John tightened his grip. "That's horse shit and you know it. I did this for _us_ remember?"

Yanking himself free, Arthur jabbed John's bulging shirt pocket. "I asked you to stop, just last night, as you lay in my fuckin' arms. And you agreed.  
Remember that?"

John tried to grab Arthur's hand, but the outlaw pushed past him to the stagecoach.  
"Arthur, come on! You're bein' unreasonable!" He called.

Whistling for his horse to follow, Arthur steered past John, not before saluting him with a certain finger 

"Oh real mature there!" John hollered at his back.

He watched the stage become a blur in the distance, guilt and remorse heavy on his heart.  
Arthur would come around, John told himself.  
He just wished he believed his own thoughts.

-

Arthur reached Emerald Ranch at dusk, and sold the stage and team for probably half of what was in the coach itself.  
The sale went off without a hitch, the stable owner asked no questions and was happy to take it all off his hands.  
It wouldn't have been a bad payday if it was any other job. 

He tossed another twig on his little fire and sighed. 

John was so set on turning his dreams into reality, he wasn't paying attention to his intuition,to his heart.  
It worried him. He'd seen the same drive and lust for money with Dutch.  
Now, granted, John's was for a more noble cause, but that want for more was just a too familiar sight.

He was being careless, with the law and with Arthur's emotions. 

It made Arthur leery, of how John would act when they were two bumbling idiots in some big city.  
Would he disregard Arthur as easily there, when all was new and they would need to be cautious?  
Arthur knew the dangers that lurked in these valleys and mountains, and even still didn't always have the best judgement, his shoulder reminded him. 

The city was a new beast altogether, one he'd barely caught sight of.  
If John was diving head first here in lands they knew, his ego might let him do the same in the big unknown. 

A talk or two would have to be had, Arthur figured. He'd have to lay it on the line that he needed to be able to trust John, now more than ever. That John couldn't just go about shit when he promised he wouldn't or Arthur…  
Arthur wasn't sure, but he sure as hell knew this wasn't going to work. 

He'd have the long ride back tomorrow to think about it, that's for sure.  
Groaning, Arthur shuffled to his tent and his slip of a bedroll.  
He never figured himself as the cautious type, but age and pain, love and a future, had a funny way of changing his thinking.


	6. Two different parties with thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Arthur is at the Mayor's garden party, John spends time with Abigail and Sadie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could list about, oh, 5-6 reasons why this next chapter had been such a long time coming. All good solid excuses, but still excuses.  
> I'm sorry! I can't promise a weekly schedule like I was doing, but I'll do better than this!
> 
> Introducing some Sadie/Abigail friendship (maybe more? Who knows) in this chapter.Hope it goes over well, I enjoyed writing the 2 ladies.

"Where's Arthur?"

If it had been anyone else asking, John would have stomped back to his horse and left without a word. It was bad enough the man took up so much space in his head, John didn't want to spread the amn gospel of Arthur the second he got home.  
But it was Hosea, and John always attempted to respect the man so he dialed back his anger.

"Gone up to Emerald Ranch, got some horses he wanted to sell." John answered reluctantly. He figured it was enough of the truth to count.

He made his way to the simmering pot of stew, Hosea hot on his heel, and helped himself to a bowl. John scarfed down a few scalding bites without even tasting it. Which was probably a good thing, considering Pearson's skills.

"Emerald Ranch? Damn, that's a day's ride from here. Dutch ain't going to be pleased." Hosea worried, glancing to the house. 

"What's he got in the works now?" John asked somewhat snidely around a mouthful of stew.

"The party at the Mayor's house is tomorrow night, Dutch wasn't sure if Arthur remembered." Hosea explained.

John lowered his spoon, hunger forgotten. "The one the kidnapper invited him to."

"Well, yes, but we can get a lot out of this my boy. No tellin' who all is going to be at this shindig." Hosea said evenly. He patted John's arm in apology.  
"Don't worry, ol' Bronte's deeds aren't forgotten."

John watched as the older man went inside, no doubt to tell Dutch his prodigal son hadn't returned yet.  
He slapped his stew down on the table, chunks of potato and grey meat splattering against the table.

"The food that bad today? Can't say I'm surprised." Sadie drawled as she ladled her own bowl. She frowned down at her food, poked a mystery chunk with her spoon. "Does this look like a claw to you?"  
She glanced up at John and seemed to notice his anger went past the nightly rations. "You ok?"

John pulled back a chair and flopped down in defeat. "Not in the slightest."

Sadie sat and daintily blew on a spoonful of stew. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I wouldn't even know where to start. Just everythin' is going to shit faster than I can fix it." John sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes.

He needed sleep. The stolen few hours smashed against Arthur wasn't cutting it.  
He watched Sadie frown as she chewed. He needed a decent meal. 

"Hey, you wanna go to the saloon and get a decent meal? I'm buyin'." John asked Sadie suddenly.

Sadie squinted her eyes at John. "And just what do you think you're gonna get as thanks?"

John snorted. "Trust me, it ain't like that. I'll get Abigail to come along too, just so you know I ain't... tryin' anythin'."

Sadie nodded somewhat reluctantly and pushed her bowl away. "I guess that'll be ok, sure."

John smiled. It was a spur of the moment thing, but he already felt happier. "Sounds good, I'll go get Abigail."

Abigail was all too happy to leave the camp for a few hours. She bribed Tilly into keeping an eye on Jack by promising to bring back treats for the woman, gleefully promising to be back soon as John helped her onto Old Boy. 

"Little eager ain't'cha?" John laughed, slapping his reins and moving the horse into a slow trot. 

On a borrowed Tennessee Walker beside them, Sadie snorted. "Eager? She near 'bout broke her neck divin' on that horse!"

Abigail laughed. "I can't remember the last time I've been out the camp! Ever since all the mess with Jack, I've been afraid to leave his side."

John nodded. "He's in good hands, don't worry about him. Tilly will keep him safe and entertained."

"Oh I know she will. She's so good with him, girl will make a fine Mama her own self one day."

The trio chatted easily on the short ride to Rhodes, Sadie making sure to point out the spot where she and Arthur took down some Lemoyne Raiders a few months back.  
"That man is a helluva shot. First time I seen him in action up close."

John didn't want to talk Arthur, but he remembered Arthur bragging on the woman and had to let her know. "He said the same thing about you, you really impressed him."  
Sadie looked pleased at the compliment, sitting up higher in her saddle as they rounded their way around to the hitching post by the saloon. 

"Here we are ladies, the best dining in Rhodes."John proclaimed as he hopped down, offering his hand to Abigail for help.  
"Well, how gentlemanly of you! I'm surprised." She said as she off the horse. 

"Hey I can be nice. I just usually choose not to be." John joked. He followed the women up the porch of the saloon, nodding hello to the few men loitering outside. 

Inside the saloon it was still early enough a table was free, John got Sadie and Abigail settled and headed to the bar to order food and grab some beers.

"Well ladies, we are in for a treat. Apparently rabbit stew is on the menu for the night." John announced as he returned to the table.  
He was met with matching groans and laughter, only dulled by his delivery of beer.  
"A rare treat indeed." Sadie laughed, clinking bottles with Abigail and John in turn.

"Don't worry, I asked for them to throw in whatever extra claws they got for you." John winked.

Another round later, they had their fill of stew, which they had to admit was a lot better than what Pearson dished up.  
John was feeling more relaxed and at ease then he had in days, hell, weeks. 

At camp he'd barely talked to Sadie, not for ill feelings, but he was always in and out he never really caught the chance. He wasn't much of a talker anyways, even with those he did know.  
But hearing her sarcastic commentary on men around them and thoughts of camp members had him and Abigail both rolling with laughter.

"Speaking of, I don't see how you put up with that Miss.Grimshaw harpin' and carryin' on. I swear if that old bird came at me like she does Tilly and Karen, we'd have a scuffle." Sadie said to Abigail.

Abigail snickered. "Oh I'd love to see that! But she ain't so bad to me anymore, now that I have Jack and all."

"She use to scare the shit outta me, it's true! But we had a moment, when we were cleanin' up Arthur…" John shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "She was very...kind."

"Man, that was a crazy night wasn't it? Ol' Arthur got it handed to him." Sadie said with a shake of her head. 

Abigail jerked, and by the way Sadie jumped and scowled, kicked Sadie under the table. "Sadie! Hush!"

"What! I didn't say anythin' 'private'." Sadie cried, hands up in defense.

John glared at Abigail, lowering his beer. "What does she mean, private?"

Stuttering, Abigail rose quickly. "Next round is on me!"

"Oh relax John, it ain't a big deal. Well, it is, but I ain't sayin' nothing to anybody." Sadie said, grin on her tanned face.

"Just what exactly do you know?" John asked. He leaned back in his chair and studied the woman, hoping it was in a cool and slightly intimidating manner.  
By the way she chuckled and drained her bottle, John didn't think his posture helped. 

"Oh I knew probably a day after she found out! How'd you tell her again, 'we're fuckin' Abigail'?" Saide laughed.

John felt his cheeks warm and Sadie just laughed louder. He dropped his unshakable and in charge act to bury his face in his palms. "Man, how could she run and tell you! I'm gonna kick her ass."

Still chuckling, Sadie clapped him on the back. "We're friends John, it's better she told me than spillin' it to someone else. Besides, I hate to tell yah but I'm pretty sure some of the camp has a general idea now."

John groaned and guzzled the rest of his beer. "That doesn't help! What do they know?"

Sadie just shrugged. "Well hell John, you doctorin' him up all those weeks sure made people start to wonder! That and, well, you ain't slept in your tent in a while…"

Cursing, John rubbed his eyes. "Ok, no more until I'm drunk. I need another, another dozen maybe. Where's Abigail?"

Sadie turned in her seat to view the bar. "She's over there, getting her ear warmed by some drunken fool."

John craned his head to see over Sadie. Sure enough, Abigail stood at the bar with a drunkard at her side. He was weaving back and forth, gesturing wilding with his shot glass while Abigail waited for their drinks 

John stood to go see what the problem was when Sadie held her hand up to stop him. "I got it."

Before he could argue, Sadie was across the small room and at Abigail's side. John watched as she nudged her way in front of Abigail, fussing up a storm at the man.  
The man didn't look too pleased to have a spitfire like Sadie put him in his place, his face contorting to a scowl.  
John heard the word "Bitch!" clear as day and stomped to the bar.

"Just who the hell-" he started, but was stopped short when Sadie whipped a gleaming hunting knife from out of nowhere. 

She tapped the man's chest with the tip, barely touching his stained shirt. He flinched and gasped as if he was stabbed though, splashing whiskey over his hand.  
"You damn right I'm a bitch. And this bitch will gut you like a fish if you harass my friend again, we clear?"

The drunk nodded and fell back in his seat, wide eyes still locked on her knife.  
Sadie smiled. "Good. Now, I think you've had enough so I'm just gonna help myself here."  
She plucked the half empty whiskey bottle off the bar and linked her arm through Abigail's. "Come on Miss.Abigail, let go get some fresh air. 

Grinning, John followed the pair out the door. "Y'all have a pleasant night now!" He called out to the curious onlookers. 

Outside Abigail and John both lost it. They cracked up, clutching railings for balance.  
"My hero! Saving me from the drunkards of Rhodes!" Abigail swooned, fluttering her eyelashes at Sadie and clasped her hands to her face. Breaking her play acting, she hugged Sadie tightly in thanks.  
"Thank you Sadie! If it weren't for you, I'd still be caught up listenin'' to him ramble."

"Did you see how he gaped though?!" Abigail laughed breathlessly. She made an exaggerated sacred face, eyes wide and mouth open, making them all crack up again.

"Arthur was right, you are a badass Sadie! Or should I say ma'am, don't wanna get on your bad side!" John joked, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Sadie grinned and lead the way down the steps to the waiting horses. "Hey, if anythin' I was just trying to score us free booze! Now I'll share it with y'all, if you're nice."

Still chuckling, they saddled up and swung by the general store so Abigail could run in, Sadie right behind her.  
John waited outside enjoying a cigarette and the stars.

He watched through the shop window as the pair laughed and roamed about, looking at the goods.  
It made him happy Abigail found such a friend in Sadie, though it was a pity she'd be leaving so soon.  
Maybe Abigail could convince Sadie to move out that way too, John thought. She'd make a good ally, a damn good guard if anything.

He shelved his thoughts when the woman emerged, giggling at who knows what. "All set then?"

"Yeap! Show him what I gotcha Sadie." Abigail said, smiling at Sadie.

The blonde rolled her eyes good-naturedly and held up a little toy fish carved from wood.  
Abigail laughed and tugged on the end of Sadie's braid. "Doesn't even need guttin'!"

"Takes half the fun out of it, huh Sadie?" John called. "Where to next ladies, home?"

Abigail groaned. "Just for that I'm ridin' with Sadie."

Sadie helped her onto her horse with ease. "Come on John, it's still pretty early. Let's head to the creek near camp and kill off Mr. Fish's bottle."

Never one to turn down free liquor, John agreed and they took off again, leaving the small town behind them.

The little creek, however, turned out to be dried up to barely a puddle. The heat of Summer had gotten to it and shrunk it down to barely nothing.  
They stayed put though, sitting right down on the sandy bank as if in front of an ocean. 

Sadie's stolen bottle passed between, each one taking a gulp and shuffling it to the next.

After her third pass, Abigail sighed and slapped her arms over both John and Sadie's shoulders. "You two, you two are my best friends."

"Oh Lord." John muttered. Abigail was an overly affectionate drunk and loved to smother whoever was nearest with compliments and affection. He could already feel his cheeks warming in preparation for the coming wave of attention.

"No no, I mean it John!" Abigail assured him, shaking his shoulder. "You're an ass, but you're my friend now."

He took a sip from the bottle passed it over to Sadie, skipping over Abigail completely.  
"You're my friend too, ass or not."

Abigail smiled and kissed him wetly on the cheek before turning her attention onto Sadie. "And you! You're my friend and official protector."  
She kissed Sadie's cheek too, a loud drawn out hum before pulling away with a pop. The pink lipstick she left stamped on Sadie's cheek had Abigail giggling 

She pulled her arm off John's shoulder, elbowing him in the process. Ignoring his curse, Abigail licked her thumb and rubbed at Sadie's cheek, the pink lipstick becoming a pink smear.  
Sadie winced and took Abigail's hand in her own, patting it softly. "It's fine, I'll wash later I promise."

Abigail sniffed and threw her hands around Sadie, almost throwing the woman completely back. "Oh Sadie, I'm gonna miss you so much!"

Sadie patted Abigail's back in comfort, the younger woman sniffing wetly in her neck. She waited until Abigail's sniffs slowed to address John. "When are they leavin'?"

He wanted to ask how long she knew about their plans, but decided it wasn't worth it. Abigail surely told her everything the second she spilled the beans about him and Arthur. "There's a train leaving in three weeks."

Sadie looked at him in alarm. "Three weeks! So soon?"

"The sooner the better." John confirmed. "They need to be safe Sadie, don't go talkin' her out of it."

Sadie tsked and kept patting Abigail's back. "I'm not John, I agree with you there. It's just, three weeks ain't nothin'."

Three short weeks until Abigail and Jack left. He'd been so busy trying to secure funds for their trip, John hadn't had time to think about how much he was going to miss them.  
The warm, caring, silly side of Abigail he'd only just learned about.  
Jack and his little games, always wanting to know more and how everything worked.

John sighed and patted Sadie's steady rubbing hand. "I know."

The cicadas around them buzzed, filling the silence with their incessant noise. Abigail's breathing was growing slower, and since John didn't want to fall asleep on some creek bank, he shook her awake.  
"Come on, let's get back. It ain't safe to be sleepin' out in the open like this."

Abigail grumbled but complied, John helping her up the horse and behind Sadie. She hugged Sadie's waist and leaned heavily against her back, her head bowed against the back of Sadie's neck. 

"Now don't yank her down." John warned, getting onto his own horse. "Or puke on her, that too."

"Definitely that too." Sadie agreed with a grimce. 

Abigail hiccuped wetly and began singing softly. "Well I gotta girl who can gut a fish.."

-  
They pulled up to camp later, and slightly drunker in Abigail's case, than planned.  
"Hope Tilly ain't too pissed we were gone so late." John commented as he hitched his horse.  
He helped Abigail down as Sadie took care of her borrowed mount.

"Hope Jack hasn't bugged the girl to death." Abigail laughed. She stretched loudly,arms raised high above her head. "Whew I'm beat! Thanks for tonight John, I needed it."

"I did too. I'm glad we can be friends like this Abigail." John said, just a little bit shyly.  
Abigail immediately went dewy eyed and captured him in a tight hug. "You're a good man, John Marston."

John coughed, gasping for breath. "Not yet, but I'm workin' on it."  
He pulled back and gestured to the house. "Want me to walk you up?"

Abigail glanced over his shoulder to where Sadie was brushing her house. "As nice a gesture as that is, I'll have to decline. I'm gonna go thank Sadie again for defendin' my honor."

John grinned and was about to make a crude joke, but stopped himself. "G'night then."  
He waved goodnight to Sadie and weaved his way through the horses to get to the yard.  
Automatically John went to the big house, but caught himself as he started up the stairs.  
He wasn't going to go sleep in Arthur's bed like some mush-hearted woman, he told himself.

He hurried down the creaking stairs and to the front parlor where the dilapidated piano sat.  
The tiny sofa Mary Beth called a lounge was free and the torn velvet looked inviting enough to John.  
He curled on his side, trying to make himself fit and failing.  
John knew he should just go out to his tent, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the house. Even with Arthur gone and their fighting, sleeping out in the yard seemed too far from the man.  
-

Between his shoulder aching and his thoughts not shutting up, Arthur gave up on the idea of sleep a few hours before dawn. He packed up his tent and set out for home, thinking by the time he made it back to Shady Belle he could sneak a nap in.

But of course, Dutch had other ideas. The second the gang's leader caught sight of Arthur, he told him of their party plans for the evening.

Arthur groaned loudly. "C'mon Dutch, I'm beat. Can't we blow this one off?"

Dutch stared at him like he grew a second head.  
"Blow it off? Arthur have you lost your mind son! We're going to hobnob with the elite, the upper crust of the bayou, the biggest crooks in the city! And when the champagne starts to flow, so will their bragging."

He shook his head at Arthur, disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm. "Go rest, but only for an hour, tops. You need time to scrub down and get polished."

"That's another thing, what am I supposed to wear to this thing anyway?" Arthur whined. 

"All has been takin' care of, don't you worry your pretty little head, Cinderella!" Dutch called, walking back to the yard.

Arthur sighed in defeat. He knew there was no way of getting out of this one,save death. Even then Dutch was liable to roll him around in his coffin, like some kinda taxidermied puppet. 

He dragged his tired bones up to his room, ignoring the wrapped brown package on his bed he knew held his monkey suit for the evening.  
He collapsed onto his cot, the bed creaking loudly in protest. If he was going to 'hobnob', then this Cinderella needed his beauty sleep, Arthur thought sarcastically.

 

Almost an hour later on the nose, Dutch knocked and entered his room without waiting for an answer.  
"Rise and shine! Time to get up and primp for your night at the ball!"

"Can't I go like this? I'll pretend to be your charity case, make you seem like a saint." Arthur begged,face squished against his pillow.

Dutch chuckled. "I brought you coffee, so I might just be one already."

Arthur sat up with a groan, cursing absently at his stiff shoulder. He took the cup from Dutch gratefully, sipping carefully at the hot coffee.  
"Maybe. So how we gonna play this thing?"

Dutch picked up Arthur's shaving mirror and checked out his reflection. "Tonight we play it cool. Absolutely no stealing, except for information."  
He smoothed down his moustache and flashed his teeth to check for any imperfections.  
"Ears and eyes open, tonight is just padding for the future."

He held the mirror out to Arthur. "Maybe you should shave, make yourself look baby-faced and innocent."

"Not a chance there. A little scruff appeals to the ladies, or so I've been told." Arthur joked, setting the mirror aside.

Dutch laughed and clapped his hands together. "I'm looking forward to this one Arthur. All those pompous windbags, choking themselves to out brag the other. And they're we will be, little outlaw sponges, takin' it all in."

Arthur snorted and finished his coffee, finally feeling up to the task of standing. "Outlaw sponges huh. Well, sounds easy enough I reckon."

"Don't hurt yourself with all that enthusiasm son." Dutch laughed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go spit shine myself to a sparkle, you do the same."

Arthur sighed and ripped open the package. "I'll get dressed, but can't promise I'll sparkle."

-

John kept himself busy all morning, doing whatever chores around the camp he could find. 

He split wood until the stack was full and his arms were weak with overuse, his hand rubbed raw from the axe handle.  
He fixed a loose spindle on a wagon wheel, sanding and grinding down a brand new one to replace it.  
It wasn't avoiding Arthur if he was busy, John told himself.

He tossed a handful of feed to the clucking chickens. They'd talk after his fancy party, John decided, then maybe John wouldn't want to punch him in the face so badly.  
Scowling, he watched the birds fight over the kernels of corn.  
Doubtful, but at least it gave him a little more time to straighten his thoughts.

"Here." Abigail appeared in front of him, thrusting a pair of gleaming dress shoes under his nose. 

"No thanks, I'll stick with my boots." John answered sarcastically. 

Abigail looked like she wanted to knock the shoes over his head, but took a deep breath instead. "Go give them to Arthur."

"No way." John snapped, tossing around handful to the chickens. "I'm busy." 

Abigail snatched the cup of feed out his hands and emptied it onto the ground. "My head is killing me John Marston, don't make me scream at you right now."  
She pushed the shoes into his hands and walked away in a huff.

"You're a lot more fun drunk." John whispered to her retreating back. 

He made a big show of carrying the shoes in his hands, holding them out like something delicate and valuable.  
"Guess Prince Arthur can't be expected to fetch his shoes himself." He mocked out loud, stomping inside and up the stairs. "Have to drop everythin' and rush to his aid."

Still muttering to himself, he knocked on Arthur's door, something he never bothered with before.  
" 'S open." Arthur answered. 

John swung the door open and deliberately avoided looking at Arthur, placing the shoes on his cot in a hurry. "Here's your shoes."

Arthur was too fast for him thoughy, and grabbed John's elbow as he tried to rush out. "Hold on a second John."

John reared back ready to push Arthur in anger, but instead froze and gaped. "Wow. You look…wow."

Like so often, his words failed him but John feasted on the sight of Arthur so polished and poised. He'd never seen him so dressed up.

The way the snowy white dress shirt was just a bit too tight, how it stretched and highlighted the thick muscles in his arms made John's mouth water. The little white bow tie that decorated his neck made Arthur seem like a present, all wrapped and ready to be torn into.  
And his hair, sleek and slicked back, so perfect John wanted to reach out and mess it up.

Arthur blushed, just the faintest bit color on his cheeks, almost hidden behind his tidied beard. John thought he looked like some young prince, shy and dapper.  
"Yeah?"

"Yeah." John said, his already raspy voice coming out deeper than normal. He swallowed dryly and repeated himself.  
"Definitely yeah."

Arthur smiled slowly and opened his mouth to comment, John would bet something flirty and sexual, but he caught himself. Instead, he fiddled with his bow tie and sat down on his bed.

"Look, John, I know you ain't happy about me goin' tonight, and I ain't thrilled myself." Arthur said, slipping on a shoe.  
He held the other one in his lap and turned to look up at John. "I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. As usual."

John was torn himself.  
He wanted to sneer and point out Arthur doing Dutch's bidding, yet again. He wanted to shake Arthur by his pristine collar, scream that Dutch didn't give two shits what happened to him, didn't he realize that when he was out getting shot?

But the frown lines and shadows under Arthur's eyes didn't need to be permanent. John wanted to assure him it was ok, he understood the complicated mess of things.  
They'd figure it out later, always later. Pushing everything back until John wasn't sure later even really existed.

He sighed and nodded stiffly. "Yeah, I know."

The door burst open and in strutted Dutch, top hat tucked under his arm and cigar clamped between his teeth. He whistled and clapped when Arthur stood to full height. "Well look at you, you clean up nicely son!"

Arthur slipped on his jacket,and tugged at the sleeves. "Little tight in the arms but I'll manage."

John slipped out the room without another word, leaving the men to themselves and their plans.  
Outside Hosea and Bill had gathered a crowd themselves, with much admiration and laughter thrown their way.  
Hosea looked sharp enough, not nearly as fancy as Dutch's over the top look, but dignified in his dark suit. He looked trusting and kind, like a preacher in some fancy church. John figured out all the men, he would be the one to get the most useful information that night. 

Bill on the other hand was a sight.  
His beer belly made the buttons on his shirt strain so tight, John worried one would pop off and put an eye out.  
Didn't help his outfit much that his pants were so short on him the whites on his socks were shining bright against the dark pants.  
"What happened Bill, you hit another growth spurt?" John asked, the gang roaring in laughter.

"Shut it Marston!" Bill yelled. He tried to tug his pants down to no avail. "Dutch, I can't go lookin' like this!"

Dutch and Arthur entered the circle of onlookers to catcalls and whistles  
"Damn, look at you guys! Y'all are gonna have some widows and trust fund babies eatin' out your palms!" Karen praised, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Dutch grinned at that, tipping his ridiculous hat at her in thanks. "Let us hope Miss Karen! That's our plan tonight, to soak up information as our charming, polished selves."

"Yeah, like I'm gonna be able to get some old hag to tell me her vault combination dressed like a shitty waiter." Bill complained. 

Mary Beth giggled into her palm before offering to let his pants out a little.  
Dutch shook his head at that and gestured to the gleaming wagon waiting. "No time, just...try to con sitting down."  
He turned back to the yard. "Don't get too comfortable here folks! Tonight paves the way for bigger and better, I assure you."

They loaded up and Lenny drove them off. The gang disbursed, and John was left alone feeling empty and unsure.  
-

"Dressed like a damn penguin and no guns too? This is bullshit." Bill muttered to Arthur as they entered the party.

Arthur had to agree. It just seems like a bigger insult to injury, to be fancied up and without a firearm on his hip.  
He took in the crowd. Nothing but the privileged and the rich, just as Dutch said.  
Probably a smart thing after all he wasn't armed. One smart remark from some pompous, pencil neck bastard and he'd probably blow a hole through them. He was certainly in the mood to.

He followed Dutch up and in the house to go check in with Bronte, unfortunately with a servant leading the way. His outlaw mind couldn't help but wonder what luxuries were hidden behind closed doors. Too bad they couldn't go fill their pockets with something besides information.

Too soon they were shaking hands with Bronte again, him cutting jokes with his cronies over their fancy new looks.

Arthur helped himself to the offered cigar, snatching the lighter out the servant's hand when he skipped over him.  
Guess his fancy look didn't do much for some after all, Arthur figured. Still have him pegged as Dutch's lackey.

Bronte snidely pointed out the Mayor, some decorated fella that apparently owned a sugar plantation, and a Confederate major.  
Bronte sneered at the young woman hanging on the portly man's arm.  
"Unseemly to have a young wife, you agree?"

Dutch nodded and sipped his wine. Bronte glanced back at Arthur. "What about you, do you have a wife waiting for you in a hut somewhere?

Beside the man, Dutch gave him a look of warning, a silent reminder not to be a smart ass. 

"Can't say I do." Arthur said slowly, flicking ash to his feet.

Bronte nodded, as if he knew all along. "Of course not."

Dutch laughed loudly to break the tension. "Not much room for wives in our line of work. Tell me more about your friends, Signor Bronte."

Bronte loved the extra audience apparently, as he moved off the subject easily.  
"Ah look, the redskins have joined the party."

Arthur watched as two solemn Indian men approached the Mayor, letter in hand. 

He thought of the Indian folk he met in his life, his own pal Charles back at camp. He wanted to speak up against their hash life, but Dutch glared at him again. Stifled, Arthur glanced away from the men below, as if they could sense his muffled complaints.

"Yes yes, hand him your letter. That'll save you." Bronte laughed. His laughter turned to a disgusted sigh as his eyes fell on a short, dumpy man out in the crowd.  
"And that is Hector Fellowes, the wretched newspaper man."

Arthur watched as Bill tried to strike up a conversation with Hector down below. Even from above and out of hearing range, Arthur could see it wasn't going well. Bill was motioning grandly, making big movements as if to take the attention away from his outfit. Hector inched away and waved him off, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

"Perhaps you'll kill him for me one day." Bronte said nonchalantly.

Arthur took note it wasn't a suggestion, more like stating a fact yet to happen. He swirled the wine in his glass, rich and dark as blood. 

Dutch's smile faltered. "We're not hired guns, so to speak, we usually try not to kill in cold blood."

Bronte lowered his cigar a fraction. "I didn't know you were so particular in your ways, as to not help a friend. "

The air cooled and Arthur's hand immediately twitched to his hip for his missing gun. He glanced at the guards around them, the rifles they hadn't lowered. 

Dutch sensed it too and backtracked quickly. "We'll help anyway we can, within reason."

Bronte wasn't swayed. "I'm going to pretend to understand what you mean."

The guards inched forward, closing in on the small space. Arthur resisted the urge to step back and react, reminding himself there was at least 4 guns in the room and none where his. 

Dutch smiled his charming grin and gave a small shrug. "I meant no offense."

Bronte didn't speak for a moment, obviously taking a second to decide if he was truly offended or not. Arthur guessed they were better use to him alive as the man smiled and gave a small laugh.  
"None taken, none taken!"

His guards lowered their rifles a fraction and relaxed, laughing along with Bronte. 

Bronte sighed loudly and shook his head, looking at the crowd below him with distaste. "All these vulgar people, they all hate me."  
He called out in Italian and waved happily, his men cracking up at his jeers.  
The way he gushed and grinned, Arthur knew Bronte loved the hate he received. 

Dutch took the break in tensions to wish Bronte farewell and try to make their escape. 

"Tell me, what are your plans this evening?" Bronte asked before they could leave.

"Well," Dutch began, glancing to Arthur as if embarrassed. "We do need money."

Bronte told them of the trolley station, of the money there. Arthur wondered if this tip came with a price, a later bullet for Mr.Fellowes no doubt. Bronte didn't seem to be the type to share information freely. 

"Go, mingle with the vulgar scum. It will make you long for the days of shooting people and screwing cows on the open range." Bronte said with a wave of his hand. 

Dutch hesitated, but regained his control. "Those certainly were the days."  
He tipped his hat and nodded goodbye to the men.

 

Once away from Bronte and his men, Dutch seemed to relax a fraction. Arthur could tell the gang leader was still a bit ruffled from being so insulted.  
Dutch scowled and muttered darkly, dusting his coat as if to clean himself of Bronte's words.

He instructed Arthur to roam the crowds, listening in for any and all information.  
"Try to get close to the Mayor, feel him out."

Arthur nodded and didn't complain. He knew Dutch's pride just took a hit and didn't want to make it worse.

He surveyed the crowd for a moment. He knew there wasn't a place for him along these people. Not a single soul could relate to his life and his worries.  
Arthur sighed and picked up a nearby bottle of champagne. All accepted alcohol though.  
He took a step into the crowd and turned to a woman, frilled and painted to the nines. "Champagne?"

-  
They left the party without incident and with tips and paperwork to boot.  
Dutch was pleased, the slap in the face from Bronte momentarily forgotten. Tonight was a success in his eyes.

When they returned to camp, Arthur turned down the offer of drinks by the fire. Dutch wanted to celebrate a night well done, to paint some big picture story for the others he was sure.  
"I gotta get outta this suit." Arthur excused himself, not stopping on his way to the house.

It wasn't a total surprise to him to see John waiting up for him. The younger man sat on his cot, back against the wall and bare feet dangling over the bed's edge.

They stared at each other as Arthur tugged loose his bow tie, the end of John's cigarette glowing bright with each inhale. 

"You're up late." Arthur stated, his deep voice nearly booming in the quiet room.

John took another drag of his cigarette. "Yeah. Just wanted to make sure you survived the night."

Arthur grimaced a smile and peeled off his suit jacket, tossing it carelessly on the back of a chair. "That I did. It wasn't the usual night out with Dutch."  
He unhooked the cumberbund around his middle and slapped it on top of the jacket, taking in a much appreciated unrestricted breath.  
"It was a strange one though."

John watched as Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, the shelack of pomade he applied hours ago wearing off as strands of hair fell in his eyes.  
Arthur glanced over to John as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. 

"What'cha got on your mind John?" He asked. Shirt unbuttoned and slightly more comfortable, Arthur sat on the edge of his bed to slip off his shoes,sighing softly with relief. "I can practically see the thoughts churin' in your head."

John snorted and snubbed his cigarette out in the now overflowing ashtray by his side. "You always do read me so well."

"Exactly." Arthur agreed. He scooted back to lean against the wall with a groan, shoulder to shoulder with John. "So what's knockin' around in that head of yours?"

Beside him John sighed, like a tea kettle blowing out steam, under pressure and needing release. "I'm really fuckin' stressed Arthur."

He picked at a hole in his jeans, the strands of frayed denim breaking off. He swallowed thickly around the lump that rose in his throat, embarrassed at the sudden wave of emotions.  
"I'm just, stressin' out."

"I know the feeling well." Arthur said, both as a truth and a comfort. "You're lettin' it all get the better of you."  
He cupped John's knee. "Wanna let me hear it?"

John laughed humorlessly and shook his shaggy head. "Yes, no. I dunno what good it will do really."

Arthur reached over John's lap and picked up his cigarette pack. He tapped the dented box with his finger.  
"You know I met a fella once who offered me big money for all the cigarette card sets I could find."

He turned the box over and pinched and slid the little card out the pack. Arthur studied the serious-faced woman on the card. "Henrietta Beatrice Woods. I don't believe I have her yet."

Arthur held up the card between two fingers. "Do you mind if I have 'ol Henrietta here?"

John mumbled that he didn't. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against Arthur's shoulder. "Maybe I'm in over my head."

"I feel like I'm doin' too much and bein' too lazy all at the same time."  
He took another shuddering breath in. "I feel like...I can't breathe some days. Just like this whole damn place is chokin' the life outta me."

Arthur sighed and squeezed John's leg.  
"I know it's tearin' you up, being here. I think, I hope, you'll feel better once Jack and Abigail are out safe." Arthur said, rubbing his cheek against the fluff of John's hair. 

John closed his eyes and felt some of the tension of the past few days leave him. He needed Arthur by his side, now more than ever. The fighting and the uncertainty between them made things so much worse, John didn't see the point somedays of working past getting Jack safe. 

"I'm sorry about the coach robbery Arthur." He said quietly. "It was stupid, and I didn't keep my word."

Arthur kissed his hair, his temple. "I know John. I know you're workin' yourself ragged for us all, you thought you had too."  
He slipped his arm behind John to squeeze his shoulders. "But I'm not bed ridden anymore, let me take some of the burden."

If he wasn't so tired and worn out, John might have fought the idea. He would have claimed it was his responsibility, it being his grand idea in the first place.  
But he was tired, wipe out to his very core, so he just nodded and nuzzled closer to Arthur's neck.  
"Tell me about the party." He asked, lips barely moving against Arthur's skin. He could smell the night on him, the bright champagne and fragrant cigars. 

Arthur hummed contently and tilted his head back to give John further access.  
"It was about how'd I pictured it. Bunch of rich snobs carryin' on about rich snob problems."

"Think anything will come of it?" John asked, not really caring either way. He was much more interested in running his hand over the exposed skin of Arthur's chest, feeling the rumble of his words against his lips.

Arthur decided not to mention the vibes from Bronte or the lifted paperwork just yet. He couldn't talk about kidnappers and oil tycoons when John was content and calm against his neck.  
"Oh I'm sure it will. What'd you do while I was away?"

"I went out, yesterday." John said as he shifted to sit in Arthur's lap. He slipped his arms around Arthur's chest, holding him tight. He tucked his head under Arthur's prickly chin, his ear pressed against the Arthur's throat.The steady thump of his heartbeat soothed his own.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "Did you now? With who?"

John smiled and wrapped his lanky legs around Arthur's waist, completely latched on to the man. "With Abigail and Sadie, believe it or not. We had a pretty good time."

"Good, y'all deserve it. I'm jealous, when you gonna take me out and show me a good time?' Arthur joked, stroking John's back.

He knew sometimes John needed this, to be engulfed and surrounded by Arthur. He needed the comfort of Arthur's touch to calm him, his solid presence to ground him.  
Arthur didn't mind, if anything he wished John would crawl into his lap more often. If all he needed was to be held, Arthur could handle that.

He kept rubbing John's back through his thin shirt, steady as if rubbing a cat. "How about we go buy their tickets tomorrow? Have 'em ready instead of waitin' last minute."

John nodded, barely moving his head from his tucked and wrapped cocoon of Arthur.  
"Sounds good."  
His eyes drifted close, the steady beat of Arthur's heart and his stroking up and down John's back were lulling him closer to sleep.

"Maybe I'll treat you to dinner, if you wear your fancy suit for me." John mumbled to Arthur.

Arthur chuckled. "I might could be talked into it."

John smiled sleepily. "Tell me some more 'bout the party."

"Oh you don't wanna hear about it, trust me. Bunch of blowhards. Let me tell you some of my tales."  
Arthur hummed in thought, trying to pull up a memory that wasn't all shootouts and robberies.  
"Did I ever tell you about the time I caught a salmon bigger than my leg?"

John shook his head, his hair tickling Arthur's nose. "Don't think so."

"I was way the hell up in the Grizzlies, on Lake Isabella, damn near freezing to death when I spotted her in the water." Arthur began.

John was fast asleep by the time Arthur had the fish strapped to his horse.

Arthur kept talking though, telling John about different random happenings in his life.  
He told John about a weird set of bones he found, bigger and larger than any human he had ever seen.  
How he knew where a field of bluebonnets grew so bright and bold, it was like walking into a painting.  
In a whisper, he told a silent John about the time he took a sip of a strange, bubbling brew and woke up outside in a daze, unsure of what happened.

He talked until his voice turned raspy and hoarse, not wanting to startle John awake with sudden silence.  
Still talking quietly, Arthur shifted so they both were laying down in the small cot. 

John stretched against him and loosened his hold, hand falling to rest at Arthur's hip. "You sure got chatty."

"Maybe I was enjoying my captive audience." Arthur joked. "No one to butt in with bigger and badder stories."

John snorted softly and closed his eyes. Arthur was just starting to doze off himself when John woke him up with a question.

"Why'd you drink the stuff from the cauldron?"

Embarrased, he pretended to still be asleep.


End file.
